


who is the blue spirit?

by emptyheadspace



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Past Abuse, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, The Blue Spirit - Freeform, Vigilante AU, iroh owns a tea shop, journalist sokka, more frenemies to lovers negl, oh yeah they're like 20 plus in this fic, secret identity shenanigans™, sokka is thirsty someone give him water, sokka is writing an article about the vigilante, the blue spirit vigilante au y'all have been waiting for, they drink together, they share a braincell but none of them fucking uses it, vigilante zuko, writing starts out a little questionable but it gets better I swear, zuko keeps scaring off people he's trying to save with the mask, zuko works in the same paper as him and is trying to keep his shit from being exposed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 60,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24182659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyheadspace/pseuds/emptyheadspace
Summary: Zuko wants to help people in a way that his family name would never allow him to, so he became the Blue Spirit, a vigilante that operates solely at night in an ornamental blue mask.Sokka is a photojournalist who just wants to write an article about this mysterious new vigilante who fights in his side of town.Zuko happens to work the same paper as Sokka, and he has no idea why Sokka hates him.Sokka can't decide if he hates Zuko because of his family name, or if he has just the teensiest little crush on him.Will the Blue Spirit be able to save the people who he wants to save? And who will be there to save him when he needs it?
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 358
Kudos: 1292





	1. the blue mask

**Author's Note:**

> a little fic inspired by a vigilante au prompt that I saw somewhere on Pinterest.

The city settled down into silence. Here in the quieter parts of the city, where short little apartment blocks sat in neat rows, there wasn’t much going on. Even the street lights were weaker and the curtains in most of the windows were drawn.

The lights went out one by one in the shopfronts.

The sounds of chattering and televisions drifting out of windows started to die down.

The sidewalks emptied out, and not a soul could be seen out and about.

The distant lights of the city centre flickered against the blue sky, a blue so dark it was almost black. Skyscrapers rose into the night, giant structures of metal and glass. Moving pictures could be seen even from this distance on the various screens that plastered across the side of the buildings, advertising products that barely anybody in this side of town could afford.

High above the streets and shops and cars parked outside apartment blocks sat a masked man. He had chosen a spot that overlooked two adjoining roads and a less frequented row of apartment blocks. 

He would sit up here longer just to drink in the scenery, but he couldn’t afford to dawdle.

It was time.

From up here he had a perfect view of the city, the whole row of apartment blocks, and most importantly, what exactly was happening in the little lane of dumpsters and abandoned bicycles.

The glint of the knife was obvious even from where he stood.

It was dark in the alley, but he could make out two figures, one pressed against the wall in a desperate bid to get away from his attacker, but there was no way out.

The man had cornered a victim, knife in one hand.

It was a kid. A teenager with a skateboard, but a kid no less.

The boy was trying to hoist his skateboard up in a defensive position in an attempt to show no fear, but he was backed into a corner and quickly losing hope. His hands were shaking and his panic was growing. He could smell alcohol on the man’s breath, and he dared not move for fear of provoking him.

“Where’s the money?” The man demanded gruffly, making a show of angling his knife and pulling it forward to where the boy could see it in clear view.

“My momma’s sick.” The boy struggled against the wall. His back dug into the brick, there was nowhere to go. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t fight. 

_ He was going to die. _

The knife edged closer to his throat.

“Don’t play around,” the thug growled. “You know what fucking happens when you don’t get me the money.”

“ _ Please _ ,” the kid started to beg, fear flashing through his eyes. “She’s really sick, we need the money, we got to eat.”

The knife came up to his throat.

“Where. Is. The. FUCKING. MONEY.” 

“I don’t have it anymore!” The kid was on the verge of tears. 

The thug pried the skateboard out of the boy’s grasp and slammed it down on the concrete. The sound ricocheted off the walls and the boy screamed. It sounded like a gunshot, a herald of death, and the boy was gripped with a panic that overwhelmed him in every single way. He couldn’t do  _ anything _ , rooted to the spot with fear as he stared into the eyes of the man who would kill him.

The man drew back his arm in one swift motion.

The boy threw his hands up, squeezing his eyes shut and praying this would be over quickly.

But the fatal blow never came.

Something had jumped out of the shadows.  _ No _ , someone.

The knife hit something metallic in a resounding scrape.

The thug yelped and jumped back.

The boy opened his eyes.

Standing before him was a figure clad fully in black. Whoever it was had their back to the boy, dropped into a fighting stance. He held a weapon in each hand, the likes of which the kid had never seen before. With jagged edges and a wavey outline, it looked like some kind of special knife, menacing in the bare light.

“Who the fuck are you?” 

The thug’s voice was raspy, and he clutched onto his side. The ugly leer had slid straight off his face and he pulled his hand away, revealing blood. 

He had been stabbed.

“Doesn’t matter,” the masked stranger said.

He stepped closer towards the thug.

In the bare lamplight, the man could now see the blue ceremonial mask covering the mystery attacker’s face. Strange ridges were carved into the mask, drawing together in deeply furrowed brows and lifeless black eyes. A set of teeth smiled menacingly straight back at the man, two sharp fangs poking out of the mask’s mouth. 

He took a step back, a little unnerved, but he wasn’t about to let some mask-toting hoodlum scare him off.

And then he yelled, rushing at the stranger with his knife.

The masked stranger darted forward, slashing at the thug in one swift and collected movement. It was almost mesmerizing to watch the stranger fight, the way he put all their power into fast, circular motions that propelled them towards the thug, landing flurries of quick blows with his weapons as he pulled back to avoid getting hit by the knife. It was almost like a dance, a ceremonial show of controlled and precise movements, every move charged with power but also practised ease.

The thug himself was no amateur fighter, but the alcohol kept him from recovering fully between blows, and he was getting sluggish and clumsy in his movements. His shirt was gashed in several places, blood seeping out of the cuts. He was in bad shape, and he was starting to sway on his feet. He would soon be in danger if he didn’t seek help immediately.

Even through his intoxicated state, the man seemed to recognize that this was a fight he couldn’t win.

He backed away, anger flaring across his face. Even he would be foolish to stick around.

And with that, the thug retreated into the night.

The alley fell into silence, save for the erratic breathing coming from the kid.

The stranger turned around, showing his mask in full form. He started to walk towards the boy.

“Please don’t hurt me!”

The boy fell back against the wall, scrambling to escape. He found purchase against the ground, hands and feet working in unison as every cell of his body screamed to get away from the masked stranger. Those terrifying lifeless eyes were fixed on him as the stranger advanced forward, weapons gripped tight in his hands. 

Terror charging through his veins, the kid leapt to his feet and hightailed it all the way out of there and into the night. The only sound he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pounding in his chest. He wouldn’t stop running until much later on when he was certain that he would never see the freak with the mask ever again.

The alleyway fell silent. 

The skateboard laid upturned on the floor.

The masked stranger stood there for a good while, listening.

He could’ve sworn he saw a shadow dart behind a wall on the other side of the alley, one that he almost failed to notice when the boy startled him by running off.

But now he couldn’t hear anything at all.

Maybe he was starting to imagine things.

He had no business standing around.

He took a few steps back, and he leapt.

Bounding off the walls and grabbing onto the side of a fire escape staircase, he threw himself over the railings and took off up the stairs. It was easy for him to navigate these streets, especially with no shortage of staircases and rooftops and loose bricks jutting out of the walls. 

Shooting one last look over his shoulder, he vanished over the edge of the rooftop and into the night.

Unbeknownst to the masked stranger, someone was pressed up against the wall in that alley. Someone who was trying very hard not to let out any sound, not even to take a breath. Someone whose heart was beating in his ears and overtaking every single thought in his mind. Even after he heard the sound of the masked figure making his way up the walls like some kind of new age Spiderman, he still stayed silent for a good while.

After a solid minute of listening out for any noises and almost killing himself with the lack of oxygen, he finally dared to venture out and take a peek into the alleyway. 

Nobody.

Sokka let out a sigh. He could breathe easy again.

He fumbled with the strap, rubbing his side where the heavy camera had been digging into his ribs when he was back there up against the wall. The light in the alleyway was safe to say,  _ not ideal _ , but Sokka could do a thing or two with a camera. With the bare lamplight and the moon peeking through the clouds, he had ramped up his ISO, fired off the camera like a trigger-hungry maniac, and hoped for the best. 

Now, it was time to see how shitty his photos had turned out.

He let out a long sigh.

They really were shitty.

Even through the motion blur, you could barely make out who was who, much less the details on the mask or the weapons the stranger was carrying. Just the shadow of a man bleeding out with a blur of motion spinning around him. 

He had caught glimpses of this masked stranger around town before, but this was the first time he had really witnessed them fighting. It was everything he expected and  _ more _ , and what a sight it was to see them spinning and leaping and rolling and twirling around with knives in some elaborate dance fight.

He silently wished that he could’ve lugged his precious DSLR along instead of this crappy compact camera. However, the fast-firing and low light capabilities of his treasured digital weapon came with the expense of the earth-shattering, neighbour-waking, eardrum-breaking sound of the shutter clicking every time he took a photo. Long story short, it was loud, and definitely not the camera to be bringing on a stakeout.

At least his theory still held up.

The masked stranger  _ was _ saving that kid from a death by knife. It could mean anything, really, but all the signs pointed to vigilante. Some sort of fighter with a weird mask and a tragic backstory who decided to take up the mantle of justice and fight crime in the poorer parts of town, defending the citizens and swooping in to save the day (or night).

Sokka thought it sounded pretty legit. Legit enough for an article pitch.

He had been following this new crime-fighter for months, but he couldn’t even capture any usable photographic evidence of a fight. He also had no inkling of just who this vigilante figure was, and what exactly they were here to do. Hell, he didn’t even know for sure if the masked stranger was truly a vigilante or not. For all he knew, they could very well be a criminal on the loose. There was so much he still did not know.

Still, Sokka was relatively pleased with himself for making it this far without getting murdered in a shady alleyway. Now that could be counted as a win.

He stuffed his camera into his backpack and started heading back to his apartment, opting to take the brighter, more well-lit streets.

At least if he was about to get murdered or robbed, he could probably count on the vigilante showing up to save him and then maybe he could finally get a clearer photo.

Sokka smiled to himself.

Next time, he was going with video footage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, so stay tuned.
> 
> here's my [tumblr](emptyheadspace.tumblr.com) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	2. a study in blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka tells Zuko about his article pitch.

“I saw the vigilante again last night,” Sokka declared proudly.

Zuko sputtered. Clearly it was a mistake to be drinking water at that very moment.

“What? Where?” He shot up from his seat immediately.

“I told you I could do it,” Sokka grinned with some sort of twisted pride. 

He turned around and returned to Zuko’s desk with a camera, and for moment Zuko’s heart nearly fell out of his chest as he considered the possibility that Sokka could have photos of the vigilante. Photos of  _ him _ . Even if he had the mask on, he of all people knew that photographs held enough value for people to piece together certain things that could lead to his unmasking.

“You can’t see shit on the photos but I was there when it happened,” Sokka explained. “It was dark and it was an alley and there was fighting, so I couldn’t get close.”

Zuko sighed to himself. At least there were no clear photos.

Yet Sokka must have actually seen him in that alley.

And here he thought he was being stealthy.

“The vigilante was wearing a blue mask,” Sokka continued, blatantly unaware of the emotional disarray clearly written across Zuko’s face at that current moment. “It was kind of creepy, but also kind of cool, but then again also remarkably tacky at the same time.”

“Or maybe he just had no other mask options to go with and it was the only thing he had?” Zuko suggested. 

It was no halloween prop, but he had it sitting in the attic for sixteen years of his life, no doubt some sort of twisted family heirloom. He vaguely remembered his mother telling him something about it being a warrior’s mask. It was one of the few things he took with him when he moved out, and he thought it was perfect. Staring into the eyes carved into the blue stone was what told him that this was what he needed to do. To be a warrior. To be a vigilante. To help people in ways that he couldn’t when he was still being regarded by the family name. At least he didn’t think it was tacky.

“How do you know it’s a he?” Sokka turned slowly towards him.

Zuko could feel his soul about to leave his body and descend a few astral planes away.

“It could be a she or a they, you know?” Sokka continued. “Or anybody, really. That’s the funny thing about that, anybody can put on a mask and dish out vigilante justice on the daily.”

Zuko sighed inwardly. 

“Do you wanna know a secret?” Sokka leaned in conspiratorially.

Zuko nodded, a little scared.

“I’ve mapped out the vigilante’s whole patrol route.”

Zuko paled. Surely Sokka couldn’t have already figured out his entire patrol route, right? Then again, he couldn’t be sure about these things when it came to an overenthusiastic journalist with no idea when to quit.

“How do you know they’re a vigilante?” He had to say something. Anything. His heart couldn’t take it at this rate.

“They were saving people,” Sokka insisted. “It was almost heroic, if it wasn’t for the mask.”

“What’s wrong with the mask?” Zuko asked, a little too quickly. 

“It scares people off, and we can’t forget that it’s still kind of tacky.” Sokka waved it off. “But thanks to the mask, I’ve thought of a name.”

“A name?”

“Yeah, the Blue Spirit.” He grinned to himself. 

“Hm.” Zuko leaned back, a little skeptical.

“It’s a good name, okay?” Sokka defended. “It’s catchy, and it fits.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to pitch it later in the meeting.”

“I don’t think you should be chasing this story,” Zuko stated plainly, as if didn’t just insult Sokka’s greatest work of all time.

There it was. He may as well have been discussing the weather or making small talk with the dollar store clerk. He could’ve been asking what’s for dinner, or correcting someone’s grammar when they didn’t ask for it. He could’ve been talking about washing dishes or throwing away the garbage or walking the dog.

But no. He had just dismissed Sokka’s one and only article pitch in  _ weeks _ .

“You’re the one who asked to see it!” Sokka threw his hands up in exasperation.

“I’m just saying you could get seriously hurt, or get in trouble with the law,” Zuko explained patiently. “It’s not worth it.”

“Only when I get the greatest scoop of the century do you care about my safety,” Sokka said in utter disbelief. 

Zuko frowned a little.

“Whatever,  _ pretty boy _ ,” Sokka said in the most mocking tone he could conjure up. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Zuko grimaced at the nickname. He opened his mouth to retort, but Sokka threw a finger up.

“I’ll pitch it, just you watch,” he said, leaning in just a little too close to be threatening.

“Fine.” Zuko shrugged. “It’s your article.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Zuko’s frown deepened. Sokka was clearly not going to listen to him of all people. Which was going to be a real pain in the ass for him if he had to deal with it later on. How was he supposed to keep everything on the downlow if he had an overbearing journalist on his trail? Especially one who couldn’t seem to shut up about the vigilante.

Other than that, he had no earthly idea why Sokka hated him so much. Sokka had been the one to initiate every single conversation or interaction they’ve had since he moved into this department. Some days he was nice and even interested in what Zuko had to say, but some days he just looked like he wished he could dropkick Zuko into a wall.

It was confusing.

Zuko had been nothing but polite. Well, except when he just about tossed Sokka’s article idea aside, that was the only time he showed any opinion. He had even taken extra care not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. He just couldn’t afford to have Sokka coming after him in the night, to have someone slowing him down or exposing who he was, or even getting potentially injured just because of him.

Truth be told, he had only relocated into this department because he needed a cover. Asking or searching around for information about the particular line of people he was looking for had not exactly been covert when he was supposed to be managing company finances.

He hated that he made use of his family’s name to secure this job quickly. His father was going to come knocking on his door sooner or later demanding some kind of explanation. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was a necessary step if he wanted to find out what he was after quick.

Even now, Zuko could feel Sokka’s eyes drilling into the side of his skull from way across the table. He was trying very hard not to make eye contact back, but it was proving to be no easy task to ignore his very persistent colleague. 

Suddenly he wished that he had agreed with the article just to get Sokka off his back.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

“I-”

“Don’t say it,” Sokka grumbled. “Don’t say I told you so.”

“I was going to apologize for being kind of a dick,” Zuko said.

“Kind of?” Sokka scoffed.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, studying Zuko in a way that made him feel like he had wronged the universe. 

“Fine, you had a point,” Sokka spoke again, slightly defeated.

His article pitch had got rejected, but only because he had a stunning lack of evidence. No clear photographs, no video footage, no eyewitness accounts. He had nothing to go off of here but his own word of mouth, and clearly that wasn’t enough for the editors.

Zuko didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t very good at comforting people, but he didn’t want to Sokka to think that he was once again being an ass. He could only stand there, one hand hovering in the air wondering whether he should rest it on Sokka’s shoulder and tell him he’ll find another idea.

“But this doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my story,” Sokka perked up almost instantaneously. “A good journalist never abandons a strong lead.”

Zuko slapped his forehead internally. He had to get Sokka off his trail.

“I hate to be the one to say it but,” Zuko started.

“No, go on.” Sokka folded his arms. “Clearly I’m very used to your criticism.”

“Sokka, what if you get into trouble?” Zuko asked. “You could lose your job.”

Sokka considered his words for a moment. 

“You almost sound concerned,” he settled on, tone a little biting.

“Sokka, I’m serious.” Zuko reached out for his hand.

Sokka looked taken aback at this sudden gesture, his eyes wide and his whole body going still. He wasn’t angry or disgusted, he was just... _ frozen _ . Stuck. His eyes were shooting back and forth between Zuko and his wrist and his body was just trying to find some kind of  _ response _ but it came up short.

“Sokka?” Zuko waved a hand in his face and broke the trance.

Sokka straightened up, trying not to think about the lingering warmth on his wrist, and the feeling of Zuko’s fingers on it earlier on.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sokka said, waving him off. “I’ll be careful.”

Somehow, Zuko doubted that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sokka needs to make up his mind.
> 
> I update every week, stay tuned.  
> here's my [tumblr](emptyheadspace.tumblr.com) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	3. downtown blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zuko chases a thief and meets a familiar face in a shady back alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted to go with a different storyline where Zuko is chasing a drug network, but I decided to keep things slightly less complicated.

A shriek cut through the night air.

The thief was fast on his feet, sneakers pounding the pavement as he clutched several bags in his hands, the straps whipping behind him as he fled. 

It was a quick job. Dart into the crowd and snatch as many valuables as he possibly could and dashing back out again to make his quick escape.

Easy peasy. Until it was not. 

He started running faster when he looked back to see a weirdo in a mask coming after him at full speed. You’d be insane not to. 

The thief started pushing people out of the way, shoving and kicking at whoever dared to get in his way. He was not getting caught tonight. If he could just make it through the series of small roads leading up to the city, he could lose his pursuer in traffic and large crowds. 

Little did he know, that would be easier said than done.

Zuko’s speed easily rivalled the thief’s own. He sped easily through the trail the thief carved through the streets, ignoring the curious eyes and horrified faces who watched the chase with grotesque interest. Even then, nobody was stepping in to do anything. Nobody was calling the police. Maybe that was for the best.

He followed the thief through winding lanes and small streets, past shopfronts and front steps. Every time he would draw threateningly close, the thief would freak and pump more energy into his mad dash, pulling a little further ahead.

Zuko knew he had to nab this guy before they both reached the busy junction just a few blocks down. In the traffic and the crowds, the thief would be lost to the night, along with about five bags no doubt filled with valuables. The thief had already committed the same crime multiple times over without ever getting caught, and Zuko could see why. 

This guy was fast. But he couldn’t run forever.

Zuko pounced, throwing the entire weight of his whole body forward.

And right onto the back of the fleeing thief.

They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and bag straps, Zuko having locked his arms around the thief’s shoulders and trying to wrestle the bags out of his grip. The thief was not giving up without a fight. He was flailing and kicking and twisting and writhing and definitely not making Zuko’s life any easier. He was also screaming and biting, which was not very helpful either.

They grappled on the ground for a moment, Zuko trying to pin the thief down while the thief was trying to slip out of his hold. Everyone in the vicinity had gathered to watch from a small distance away with a morbid curiosity, but nobody stepped in to stop the fight. 

Zuko wrenched the bags out of the thief’s hand, but he was on the verge of getting tossed off as the thief wriggled and bucked below him. He couldn’t quite lock his arms around the thief’s neck when he was trying not to get bitten, and now he was trying hold on before he got thrown off.

He also couldn’t quite use his weapons to threaten the thief into giving up when everyone was watching. Zuko had no qualms about resorting to violence to handle a sticky situation, but he didn’t want to have at least twenty eyewitnesses saying that he stabbed a man if things got messy. Someone was bound to call the cops sooner or later, and he wouldn’t be on the scene when they came. He wasn’t exactly considered a friend to the law.

He heard a camera click, and he whirled around.

The thief slipped out of his grasp.

_ No! _ Zuko tackled his legs. 

This time, the thief fell forward and faceplanted onto the ground, knocking himself out instantly. 

Zuko was exhausted. He got up and grabbed the bags off the floor. 

He held them out to the crowd, hoping that whoever they belonged to would just show up and take them off his hands.

Everybody was still staring. Cameraphones were firing off, and murmurs arose from the crowd. They were definitely not cheering, not that Zuko was expecting an audience. He didn’t need more people knowing about him. That would just mean more trouble with the law.

But these people looked almost  _ terrified _ .

They were gesturing and pointing, and moving away when he came even just a step closer.

Zuko laid down the bags on the floor.

HIs job here was done. They would just have to find their way back to their original owners without him.

And with that, he took off through the crowd, a few onlookers jumping out of his way. He didn’t stop until he took a few lefts and found a shadowy back alley to catch his breath in.

He couldn’t just keep chasing after petty crime cases like this, but even then he couldn’t ignore them either.

He was just about to take his mask off to breathe easier when he heard a sound.

_ Clang _ . Someone had followed him.

He whipped around, catching the movement immediately.

Zuko charged towards the figure lurking in the shadows.

There was an indignant yelp as he slammed straight into whoever it was, and once again he fell to the ground trying to get a hold on another potential aggravator. Zuko clapped his hand around his mouth, trying to get an elbow around the neck.

It wasn’t until a few moments into the tussle that he realized the yelping sounded unnervingly familiar.

Zuko flipped the struggling figure over.

_ Sokka?! _ He had to physically restrain himself from yelling the name out loud. 

“I’m a journalist, a journalist!” Sokka protested, trying to get the vigilante off his back.

Zuko rolled off his back almost instantly, unsure of what to do with his limbs.

Sokka got up into a sitting position, his head spinning. His face hurt a little from having just practically been slammed into the dirty, muddy ground, and his entire body felt like he had just been tossed around in a blender. Maybe he was just weak but damn, was this how all those action movie stars felt like in a fight scene. Not that he did much fighting back, but all that didn’t matter now.

He wiped his mouth, blatantly aware of the hand that had been over it just a few seconds ago.

He was staring at the vigilante. They were face-to-face. Up close. And personal.

“Hello?” Sokka tried, a clearly elegant greeting to someone who he knew could very easily punch the living daylights out of him and maybe more. 

Zuko leapt to his feet. Was he supposed to say hello back? Was he even supposed to talk out loud? What if Sokka recognized his voice?   
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Zuko said a little gruffly, hoping the mask covered his voice just enough.

“You’re the vigilante,” Sokka said. 

They just sat there in silence, not quite sitting and not quite standing.

Even through the slats that were supposed to be eyes in the mask and the dim lights of this shady back alley, Zuko could see that it was indeed, Sokka. Sokka, the journalist. Sokka, the one who was always coming over to Zuko’s desk to fire off some witty remark about the way he did his hair or his coffee order that day. Sokka, who would tell Zuko about his article ideas and the harebrained conspiracy theories he had about everyone in the office without fail every morning. Sokka. That Sokka. The Sokka. The one and only Sokka he knew.

Sokka was standing in front of him.

In a hoodie. And sweatpants. And a backpack. And gloves. He looked like he was about to embark on some sort of adventure, of what kind Zuko did not quite know. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

He didn’t even know why he was surprised. He already knew Sokka would be chasing the vigilante. He just didn’t quite prepare for what he would do if he actually confronted the over-eager journalist. 

Zuko wondered why if he didn’t just run off back when Sokka was still trying to peel himself off the floor. He could’ve easily made it halfway down the next block by then.

“Why are you following me?” He asked, trying desperately to deepen his voice.

“I’m writing an article on you,” Sokka said plainly.

Silence.

“Why?” Zuko asked.

“You’re interesting,” Sokka replied. “You fight crime, you wear that mask.”

He had to remind himself that this was the vigilante. The one wielding weirdly shaped knives and wearing a freaky mask and going around chasing people at night in all black. This was the vigilante that could easily kick his ass.

Zuko remained silent.

Staring into the lifeless eyes of the mask, Sokka suddenly understood why people were so terrified of the vigilante. He couldn’t see whatever expression was on his face, or gauge what the vigilante was thinking. It gave him shivers, and not in the good way.

Was he about to get murdered in a back alley?

The vigilante was looking down at his camera.

It was a compact camera, one designed for shooting film. 

“You have videos of me?” 

Sokka nodded cautiously. He could tell that the vigilante wasn’t big on exposure, much less media exposure. One wrong move could land him in his grave.

It all happened in a flash.

Zuko didn’t know what took over him.

He snatched the camera.

And then he ran.

“Hey!” Sokka yelled. “Wait!”

He found himself chasing after the disappearing figure, but held back.

But by then the vigilante was already gone, disappearing into the blackness of night. Leaving Sokka standing in a very shady back alley at night, alone and camera-less.

One one hand, he didn’t have the videos anymore, and he didn’t get the living daylights punched out of him.

Then again, he  _ talked _ to the vigilante. And got threw into the dirt by the vigilante but at least nothing but his pride was injured.

He needed to sit down.

Sokka didn’t know whether he should count tonight as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, stay tuned.
> 
> here's my [tumblr](emptyheadspace.tumblr.com) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	4. jasmine tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko is rambling and Iroh is just trying to help his clueless nephew through the means of tea and advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The vigilante stole my camera." - sokka  
> *surprised pikachu face* - zuko

“The vigilante stole my camera.”

“Excuse me?” Zuko put on his best surprised face.

“I’m still in shock, okay?” Sokka rambled on. “All my footage is gone!”

Zuko couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him. Noticing that Sokka was still staring in his direction, he passed it off as a very awkward cough. 

Sokka narrowed his eyes.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Zuko said.

“Like I’m supposed to believe that,” Sokka muttered under his breath. “Never mind, I’m still not giving up on this lead.”

Zuko stared at him pointedly.

“I talked to the vigilante. I  _ talked _ to him,” Sokka said, still a little disbelieving. “And I didn’t get murdered, so that’s good.”

“I doubt the vigilante actually wanted to kill you, or anybody,” Zuko pointed out.

“Still, he’s clearly got the strength to,” Sokka said. “Not to mention that he knocked me to the ground for a while.”

Zuko very nearly said sorry. He needed to make the separation between being the vigilante and being himself. It was a hard line to walk and he was still getting used to the hang of it. Every time he heard someone talking about the vigilante, he had to remember that he was trying not to give himself away. He didn’t need to slip up and give Sokka more suspicion than Sokka already had.

“You never give up, do you?” Zuko said, more of an exasperated comment than an insult. Not that Sokka would hear it otherwise.

“It’s called determination,” Sokka retorted. “Maybe you’d find some if you didn’t spend all your time insulting me.”

Zuko opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He flailed around trying to make a couple hand gestures, but he fell short. What was he supposed to say to that? He wasn’t even trying to insult Sokka. He didn’t even think he was insulting Sokka. Was he insulting Sokka? Once again, he didn’t know why Sokka loathed him so.

“Anyway, I’m not gonna let the loss of my camera bring me down,” Sokka declared a little too loudly, causing a few other people in the office to shoot puzzled looks his way. 

“What are you going to do this time…?” Zuko asked, slightly apprehensive. He was starting to get slightly scared when Sokka had that look on his face. The “I have a crazy idea and you can’t stop me” look. 

“Just you wait and see.” Sokka crossed his arms. “I’ve got just the thing.”

“He started a blog?!” 

Zuko had to sit down. He put his hands over his head. He could feel a migraine coming on. This Sokka was relentless.

The blog was a webpage with a simple user interface and a few introductory text boxes on the side. Splashed across the top of the header was “The Blue Spirit” in blue, and if Zuko scrolled down he could find speculatory articles and links to cases that he had helped close, talking about the mysterious mask and his knives. 

Zuko would’ve never stumbled across it if he hadn’t been following all the top trending tags (it was important for someone who worked the paper to keep themself up to date on the latest stories, or so he kept telling himself), and someone had posted a link to the new blog. The instant he clicked on and read the very familiar writing style with its refreshing use of big descriptors and sense of snappy humour, he  _ knew _ it had to be Sokka’s blog.

“Who started a blog?”

Iroh poured the tea with extra care not to let any drop spill out of the cup. The steam rushed out of the hot tea, twirling and dancing into the cool night air beyond the balcony. Then he set the teapot down onto a wooden stand, and passed Zuko his cup in a traditional gesture. Iroh had always insisted on doing tea the proper way, and Zuko was always happy to oblige, even if he didn’t fully understand it. 

“Jasmine tea, your favorite,” Iroh said.

“Thanks, Uncle.” Zuko took a sip. The tea was the perfect temperature, hot but not scaldingly so. The delicate floral flavor danced across his tongue, and he could feel the warmth pooling at the back of his throat as he sipped the tea. It was comforting.

Iroh sipped his own tea, making affirmative little noises here and there.

“This tea is good,” Zuko remarked.

“As all tea should be,” Iroh replied, pride swelling across his face. He had taught his nephew well. “Now, what was that about a blog?”

“Sokka started a blog about the new vigilante,” Zuko said. “He’s really not giving up.”

“Ah, Sokka again.” Iroh sipped more tea. “He seems to be all that’s on your mind lately.”

Zuko stopped sipping his tea.

“He’s chasing the vigilante, Uncle,” Zuko said. “The  _ vigilante _ . The one with the mask and knives? The one running around at night and beating up bad guys?”

“I’m familiar,” Iroh tutted. He poured himself and Zuko more tea, quirking at eyebrow at his harried nephew. “You seem awfully worried about this Sokka.”

“He’s going to get himself into trouble if he keeps going,” Zuko said. “He doesn’t understand how dangerous this vigilante can be.”  _ How dangerous I can be _ . 

What would his uncle think if he knew that Zuko was the one going around beating people up? Using reckless violence? Hurting and scaring people? Running around at night in the streets with knives and a mask? Defying the law and avoiding police? It was something that he didn’t want to think about. His uncle turning him away. His uncle being disappointed in him. 

“But he won’t get himself hurt, would he?” Iroh sipped his tea calmly, a slightly amused smile behind his cup that went unnoticed.

“Not yet, but he’s bound to.” Zuko downed more tea aggressively. “Isn’t tea supposed to be calming?”

“Then be calm, Zuko,” Iroh said simply. “If this Sokka is really as smart as you always say, then I’m sure he can handle himself.”

“But it’s the vigilante!” Zuko protested. “Who knows what he can do?”

“I’m sure you know,” Iroh said pointedly. 

“What I know is that chasing the vigilante around is not the best idea.” Zuko set down his empty cup. “One of these days he’s going to land himself in grave danger.”

Iroh raised an eyebrow.

“Are you going to tell him to stop?”

“How am I supposed to tell him to stop following-” Zuko bit his tongue before he could say “me”. “To stop following the vigilante.”

“Well, the vigilante hasn’t injured him so far,” Iroh pointed out. “Maybe he’ll stop if he gets…?”

“Hurt?!” Zuko stood up. “That’s insane, Sokka wouldn’t go that far right? What an idiot!”

“Once again, I’m sure the vigilante wouldn’t hurt him,” Iroh said, getting a little annoyed.

“How are you so sure?” Zuko flailed around, nearly spilling his tea everywhere. “What if he gets caught in a fight? What if he gets in the way? What’s stopping the vigilante from hurting him then?”  _ What’s stopping me from hurting him then _ ? 

Zuko shivered. He could not forget how he nearly landed Sokka in the hospital that night in that shadowy back alley. One more second and he could’ve seriously broke something. If he hadn’t stopped to check, he would’ve seriously inflicted some damage on the undeserving (okay, maybe slightly deserving) journalist. 

“I’m sure the vigilante won’t attack an innocent civilian.” Iroh took Zuko’s cup and poured him more tea. “Especially not Sokka, hm?”

“What do you mean?” Zuko turned to his uncle. “Sokka’s trying to expose him.”

“Are you really sure that’s what Sokka wanted to do?” Iroh asked. “What if he just wants to show the world how much good the vigilante is doing?”

“By stopping petty crime and purse-snatchers?” Zuko scoffed. “It’s kind of sad.”

“Every little bit counts,” Iroh said softly. “The streets are still safer, even if it’s just by a little bit, with the vigilante around.”

“Really?” Zuko’s shoulders loosened. 

“Maybe the world deserves to know what The Blue Spirit is trying to do,” Iroh continued. “And Sokka is doing just that.”

“I still don’t know how to feel about that name,” Zuko admitted. “And what if the law comes after the vigilante, what would he do then?”

“My point is, maybe a little media exposure would let people understand who’s under the mask, so they will no longer be scared,” Iroh explained. “With a mask like that, it’s not hard to understand why everyone is so terrified.”

_ Why does everyone talk about the mask?  _ Zuko thought. 

“I guess,” Zuko sighed. 

The two of them sat in silence for a bit, looking out at the little street down below from the balcony. He could hear the sounds of traffic fading into the night from the road just a few blocks away. The night air was getting a bit chilly, but the tea warmed them up. It was a quiet night, and Zuko felt a small sense of reassurance at his uncle’s words. He mulled over them in silence, wondering if what his uncle said was really true. Could he be bringing hope to the people? It brought him a sense of warmth, just like the tea. He always knew he could always come to his uncle for wise words, even if he didn’t quite ask for them.

Maybe he would be able to tell his uncle one day that he was the vigilante. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so guilty about running around in a mask at night. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so guilty about beating up bad guys. Maybe then he would find something bigger, a better purpose. Then he could proudly admit to his uncle that his words had helped him, his words had allowed him to help more people. To help shape the Blue Spirit.

But today was not that day.

“I have to go,” Zuko said, looking at his watch. “I have business to take care of.”

He grabbed his bag, the one with the mask and his knives and a pile of black clothes.

It was time.

Iroh nodded solemnly.

“Goodbye, Uncle.” Zuko turned to leave, taking one last sip of his tea. “Take care.”

“Be careful when you’re out there fighting, Zuko,” Iroh said, smiling a little behind his cup. “You might catch a cold in this night air.”

Zuko nearly choked on his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, so stay tuned.
> 
> tumblr- emptyheadspace


	5. the man in the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko is on a stakeout, but things get messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was at this moment that Sokka knew he had fucked up.

Zuko peered over the edge of the rooftop.

_ Ares Nightclub _ . The new hotbed for criminal activity, specifically drug deals. The place was throbbing with loud music, people streaming in through the double doors. Colored lights flashed through, occasionally leaking out the doors and exposing the ruckus inside. A bouncer stood out front, face intimidating as ever, glaring at anyone who dared to walk straight to the front of the line and try to bribe their way in.

This was where Zuko tracked most of his cases to. All the instances where he had to step in when shady criminal types threatened kids in this part of the city always involved some form of drugs. None of the kids he saved would stick around to confirm his suspicions, but he was pretty certain that there was a base this “boss” that everyone referred to operated out of. And that base happened to be Ares Nightclub. 

This nightclub was much closer to the city center than the shady back alleys and little streets that Zuko had familiarized himself with. It was a popular haunt for all the high-rollers and people who had money to spare. Something about reputation or showing off wealth or something. From the looks of the place and the sound of the music, Zuko doubted that people came here for the party experience or the drinks.

He knew what they came here for. 

_ Drugs _ .

He felt for his pockets. The blades were still there. He wouldn’t be brandishing his flre knives tonight. It was just a stakeout, no violence and no fighting involved. He would simply wait, and watch, just to see if anything happens around the building. Thankfully it was surrounded by rooftops of taller or equal height, affording him stealth and safe passage without anybody spotting him from a random window or something.

He was counting on tonight to be a very boring night, but he still had be on the lookout for anything suspicious.

Not to mention that he had be on the lookout for Sokka.

He had no idea how his very persistent work colleague was tracking him down, but he had been trying to shake him off his trail. He tried different patrol routes, he tried travelling on the ground more, he tried increasing his pace, but somehow Sokka was never far behind.

One of these days, Zuko might just walk up to Sokka and suggest that he quit his job as a journalist and become a bounty hunter or a detective instead.

He jumped to a slightly lower rooftop facing the right of the entrance to the nightclub.

Today’s guests were not very high profile, everyone had to wait a long line to enter. Many patrons were wearing gaudy jewellery and feathers and leather and velvet and silk and so many other textures that Zuko could not quite name. If anyone was looking for drugs, he certainly could not tell just from looks alone.

Maybe he should check the back of the building instead.

When he rounded the rooftops near the back, he froze.

_ Bingo _ . 

He huddled down, pressing himself lower to the brick while hanging slightly over the edge to catch a better look. There were about five men unloading box after box off a truck. The boxes and the truck were labelled with the name of a famous alcohol brand, so it shouldn’t be so suspicious given that it was a nightclub after all. But alarm bells were going off in Zuko’s head.

The men looked like the kind of men that gave kids a hard time in alleyways, not that Zuko was one to judge. But since he was supposed to be considering every suspicious individual, he  _ was _ going to judge. They wore jackets, and from Zuko’s experience, those easily concealed weapons like knives. He didn’t want to think about how hiis hair would go up every time someone coming towards him on the streets reached into their jacket. He was getting really jumpy these days. 

They weren’t unloading the boxes outside the building, so Zuko had no earthly idea of what was inside them. But he had a very good idea of just what they contained. 

But it was just a stakeout. And since he couldn’t get into the club without actually dressing up like a guest, he wasn’t about to try tonight. 

That’s when he realized something that chilled him to the bone. He wasn’t the only one watching these people.

Someone else was in the lane below.

_ No! _ Zuko’s eyes shot wide open. What the fuck did Sokka think he was doing? 

There was no mistaking it. The same blue hoodie, the wolftail hair. It was Sokka alright. And he was huddled up against a wall behind a line of motorbikes, staring at the men too.

He was going to get himself in trouble.

Zuko didn’t know what he should do. He couldn’t call out to Sokka, everyone would damn well hear him. He also couldn’t jump down into the narrow lane and pull Sokka out of the way without at leat one of the men noticing him. He wasn’t about to take on five guys in a fight. Especially not five potentially armed guys.

Maybe Sokka would catch some sense in the next few minutes and run away on his own accord. Then Zuko could breathe easy.

But it was never that simple with Sokka.

_ Clang _ . The sound reverberated easily through the lane and up to the rooftop.

Sokka had kicked an empty beer can by accident.

Instantly, all heads turned to look at him.

_ It was at this moment that Sokka knew he had fucked up. _

The men currently advancing menacingly in his direction were definitely not happy.

Zuko scrambled down the wall, whipping out his blades.

Sokka was backing away (smart move), to his relief.

“Run,” Zuko turned around to glare at Sokka through his mask. “Run!”

Sokka took off.

Zuko was on his own now. He had to hold these guys off.

The loud club music was pounding in his ears.

He leapt into their midst, his instincts taking over. Before any of the men could pull out some form of knife, he whirled and sliced the nearest one. They howled in pain, pulling back, but they were not down yet. 

_ Now _ they were angry.

Two of them came at him at the same time. 

Zuko dropped and rolled, tripping one of them straight into the pile of boxes.

But the other one jumped straight at him with a knife, nicking Zuko by the shoulder. He was unfazed, and he swiped at the man with his own knives, sending him reeling back, clutching his side.

Zuko’s shoulder hurt, but he was too pumped with adrenaline to even feel it right now.

The other two circled around him, much more aware now that Zuko had a means of fighting back and that they weren’t just facing a random punk with a mask. They held no weapons, but he could tell that they knew how to handle themselves in a fight. They were already in a fighting stance, and would not easy to throw off their feet.

Zuko slashed at the one on his right, sending the one on his left tackling him to the ground. He wrestled with the arm trying to lock over his head, burying one of his knives deep into the leg right behind him, trying desperately to shove the bloke off his back.

He moved backwards, slamming the man on his back against the wall and knocking him out for good. 

Zuko was getting tired, but three of them were already getting to their feet, ready to take another swing at him.

He knew fighting was not the wise choice here, but his only exit was being blocked. 

He had to fight his way through.

Zuko tightened his grip on his knives.

And then he charged.

Sokka dared not look around the corner of the building until he was certain that the fighting had stopped for good.

There on the floor lay five men. None of them were moving, but they were not dead. 

One of the men lay off to the side, trying to get up, but he was clearly unsuccessful.

Then, he spotted something.

In the middle of all the mess lay a familiar sight. A bundle of black and the corner of a blue mask peeking out.

_ The vigilante _ .

Sokka ran over against his better judgment, and took the unconscious figure by the shoulders. He shook, and there was no response.

“Shit, shit, shit.”  _ Please don’t be dead _ .

He leaned in, trying to check for a pulse, for breathing, for anything.

Sokka’s hand came over from the vigilante’s side. 

It was red.

He must’ve been gashed. 

Sokka was very close to freaking out right now.

There was an unconscious vigilante lying at his feet, any of these men (presumably criminals) was going to get up at any second, and Sokka had no idea how to fight.

He had to get out of there.

Sokka bent down, trying to hoist the full frame of the vigilante onto his back. He was much heavier than Sokka would’ve liked to try carrying, but there was no time to spare. He struggled trying to hold onto the man who was slowly slipping off his back.

He was not going to abandon the vigilante who just saved his life.

Each step felt heavier than the last. Sokka was heaving and shaking now, but slowly and surely he was moving the vigilante out of the lane.

It wasn’t too far from his house, it was a few blocks away give or take. 

He would take the back alleys or find some other way there. He was not letting someone die on his watch today. Especially not the vigilante.

_ Why did he have to be so stubborn? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, so stay tuned.
> 
> tumblr - emptyheadspace


	6. mask on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zuko finds himself in sokka's house for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> secret identity shenanigans™ are exactly what I'm here for

Sokka unwrapped the jacket that he had tied around the vigilante’s midsection. He was losing blood quick, and Sokka needed to do something about it immediately. He racked through his brain, trying to collect his thoughts and get ahold of first-aid knowledge buried under years of neglect and disuse. 

He set the weirdly-shaped blades that fell out of the vigilante’s pockets aside. They were jagged around the edges, and kind of spikey. They resembled flames. He didn’t have time to admire or consider how any of that worked though.

_ Fuck _ . He should’ve brought the vigilante to a hospital. Who cares if it was too far away on foot? He could’ve just hailed a taxi and deflected questions until the vigilante made it to emergency care. Who cares if the police could just show up and arrest him? Why did he care so much if the vigilante got arrested? He didn’t even know this man.

He fetched the first aid kit. Thank whatever god above that he had thought to stock it at the beginning of the year before he embarked on this crazy suicide journalism blog trip, just in case the vigilante felt the sudden desire to punch him. How ironic that he wasn’t the one running around getting hurt.

Sokka piled more cloth over the deep cut, silently willing the bleeding to stop. His hands were shaking, and  _ god _ there was so much blood everywhere. His head was spinning and a voice (probably his own) was screaming in his head but he knew he had to get it done fast. 

He didn’t want to think about what would happen if the vigilante died in his hands.

The vigilante was twitching, as if trying to move, but he couldn’t.

“Hold on, this is going to hurt…” Sokka swabbed the wound over with disinfectant as quickly as possible. His voice had dropped to a quiet whisper, as if one loud word would awake the vigilante or hurt him even further. 

The vigilante winced, but he still didn’t talk. 

Zuko was fading in and out of consciousness. Every sound and light was far away, but he could feel the stinging of something touching his side. Had he been cut? Stabbed? He couldn’t quite open his e yes, and he couldn’t quite make out where he was either. 

He fumbled with the roll of gauze. The bleeding had stopped, and he had cleaned the wound, and Sokka was just hoping to dear god that he was doing this right. He wrapped the clean bandages around the vigilante’s midsection, hoping that he had enough.

As his hands ghosted the slowly fading warmth of skin and muscle, a thought popped into Sokka’s head.  _ He has nice abs _ .

He wanted to slap himself.

_ So _ not the time.

He hurried up the pace, and in moments he was done bandaging the wound. Now he just hoped that it would hold enough for the vigilante to heal. Then he moved on to clean the shoulder too. The cut there wasn’t too deep, thank god.

Sokka went to prop the vigilante up higher onto some pillows, and his hand froze at the mask. Just like Sokka had suspected, it was made of some heavy and solid material. It couldn’t be comfortable, and the vigilante needed as much oxygen as possible right now.

He wrestled with himself.  _ Should he take off the mask _ ? Surely the vigilante would not take kindly to his identity being exposed. Then again, what were the chances that Sokka knew the person under the mask? He wasn’t that lowdown or dishonorable enough to catch the vigilante off guard at his weakest either.

He left it alone. 

He didn’t stop staring at the mask though. The white ridges against blue. The circular eyes that no longer seemed that lifeless. Now that Sokka had come to know the vigilante and his exploits a little more over the weeks that he had been working on his blog, he had a newfound respect for this guy. 

The vigilante never resorted to unnecessary violence, choosing to turn criminals in when he could’ve easily ended them on the spot. Even though most of his cases had been petty crime and spontaneous runs, Sokka knew he had been tracking something greater: the prolific drug trade in the city. That’s what led him to pursue the Ares Nightclub lead too. He just didn’t know it would turn out so  _ disastrous _ .

He turned away. The vigilante needed sleep.

An hour or so passed with Sokka’s constant vigil. He got nervous every time he returned to the vigilante’s side, having to check for breathing.

He must’ve done it at least five times, and on the sixth time, the vigilante coughed.

Sokka moved closer, and in the blink of an eye, something hard connected with his chest and he fell back sputtering.

“Hey!” He tried to hold the struggling vigilante down. “You’re hurt! You’re gonna rip it even more!”

The vigilante stopped.

_ Sokka _ ? Zuko must not be seeing things right. Maybe he was having some sort of fever dream or he had been fed drugs or he was hallucinating in his last moments before death or-

“Yes, there, it’s just me.” Sokka held out his hands, showing that he meant no harm. 

“Where am I?” Zuko rasped. If the mask didn’t already hide his voice, the wheeziness in his voice would do the trick.

“My house,” Sokka replied. “You were hurt, and I didn’t think you’d want to go to a hospital and it was too far away so I brought you back here and-”

“You carried me here?” Zuko asked, his eyes roving over Sokka’s tall and lanky frame. 

“Why do you sound so disbelieving?” Sokka huffed. “I’m quite strong myself.”

Zuko lay back down, his entire body relaxing. This was Sokka. He hadn’t been arrested or kidnapped, after all. He was almost relieved to hear Sokka droning and rambling on.

And then he winced.

He felt at the bandage, the searing pain having reduced to a dull but persistent throb in his side. It was all coming back to him now. Ares nightclub. The knife fight. Five guys. He had tried to take on all of them alone. Stupidly. 

His hand shot up subconsciously, feeling for his left eye, where his scar sat.

He knew his subpar depth perception was going to be the death of him one day, but he didn’t think it would be so  _ literal _ .

And the mask. It was still in place.

Sokka hadn’t taken it off.

“How are you feeling?” Sokka asked, concern leaking into his voice.

“Fine,” Zuko said. Sokka had never been this concerned about him before, and he thought it was actually a nice change of pace. “Why did you come back?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you come back for me?” Zuko managed to say through another flare of pain.

“Oh, uh.” Sokka ran his hand through his hair. “Well, considering you saved my life and all, it would be rude not to.”

He had been expecting many questions, but that was not one of them. Did the vigilante expect him to just run and abandon him for good? Was it not obvious that Sokka would come back for him after weeks of his persistent stalking and following?

Zuko mulled over his words. 

“Now, you need water,” Sokka stated, making it clear that is was a fact.

Zuko couldn’t argue with that.

While Sokka vanished into what he presumed was the kitchen, he took a good look around the house. It was a small flat with minimal pieces of furniture but a lot of bits and pieces lying around. There was a sofa and a ceiling fan, and a small balcony next to the sofa.. A coffee table stood in the middle of the room, bundles of magazines and newspapers stashed in between post-it notepads and notebooks. A small fish tank stood in the corner of the room, a couple of unassuming small fish swimming around inside. There were a few paper boards tacked to the wall that contained photos and string and pins.

Zuko tried not to smile. It was just like Sokka to have crime boards hanging around.

He squinted, trying to take a look at the cases Sokka was chasing. There were a few shots of him. He wished he could get off the sofa to take a closer look, but standing would surely be too much of a chore, plus he didn’t want Sokka to start admonishing him. But he could make out a few photographs of his exploits, mainly those that involved a lot of fighting. 

There was the purse snatching. The time he stopped a shoplifter, among multiple times. The spontaneous burglary of a house. Sokka had certainly done his research, and had his patrol route nailed. 

It would be impressive if Zuko wasn’t so concerned.

“Here.” Sokka returned with a glass of water. 

Zuko blanked. He almost took the mask off.

“Uh, I’ll go in the other room while you drink.”

“Why?” Zuko asked. “Why didn’t you take it off?”

“How do you know I didn’t take it off?”

“You would’ve reacted.”

Sokka didn’t know what the vigilante meant by that.

“I didn’t think you wanted your identity exposed.”

“Then why start a blog about me?” Zuko asked. “If not to reveal my identity.”

“Because the world deserves to know who’s running around saving people at night when the streets are unsafe,” Sokka put it simply. “And if you decided to do it in a mask, then I’ll respect your decision. It doesn’t matter who’s under the mask if you’re doing good.”

He walked out of the room.

Zuko was taken aback. This was the first time anyone had ever said that. He hadn’t really considered it when he put on the mask. He had always struggled with the whole idea that he was pretending to be someone he was not. That he was trying to be a hero and the mask was a cowardly front.

The water was just what he needed. But he couldn’t stick around for long.

“Please tell me you’re not running off like that.” Sokka returned a few minutes later.

Zuko stopped trying to get up. He was, in fact, about to run off like that.

“I’m making dinner,” Sokka stated sternly. “And you’re  _ staying to eat _ .”

Zuko groaned. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna keep you here forever,” Sokka continued. “At least just eat and take some more bandages.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” The words escaped his mouth before he could control them.  _ Shit _ . He had to remember he wasn’t talking to Sokka as Zuko, he was the vigilante, he was the Blue Spirit. 

“Well my readers wouldn’t take kindly to my sole subject dying on me, would they?” Sokka snorted. “What would I tell them? The vigilante died while I ran away like a coward?”

There was the classic Sokka sass he was so familiar with.

“But I could’ve hurt you, and you know that,” Zuko continued.

“But you didn’t, and that’s what counts,” Sokka pointed out. “Now are you going to stay or not?”

“Fine.” Zuko lay back down.

Satisfied at the response, Sokka turned towards the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Zuko managed to say.

Sokka froze, then he smiled.

Zuko didn’t know how the hell he fell asleep after all that, but by the time he had opened his eyes it must’ve been around ten. He woke up in a haze, the mask not helping things as he swung around wildly, trying to remember where he was.

“Hey! I was wondering when you would wake up,” Sokka said.

_ Sokka’s house _ .  _ He was at Sokka’s house _ .

“How long was I out for?”

“An hour,” Sokka said. “I thought you needed the rest so I didn’t wake you.”

Zuko groaned again.

“I made you an omelette, and rice.” Sokka held the bowl out in front of him. “I hope you like eggs and cheese.”

The rice was still steaming, which meant that Sokka must have reheated the meal somewhere along the way. The omelette looked suspiciously good.

Zuko felt warm inside when he considered the possibility that Sokka was a good cook.

“I’ll leave the room, you should take it off and eat.” Sokka gestured to the mask. 

And with that, he left.

Zuko slid the mask off his face. He was used to long hours in the mask, but that thing could be suffocating sometimes. He breathed in and out. He was sweating everywhere, and his clothes were ripped in weird places around his stomach, but other than that the pain had subsided enough for him to move.

He poked the omelette with a chopstick suspiciously. Surely it could not taste as good as it looked. The golden, crispy outside beckoned to him, and his stomach grumbled in response. He had not known hunger of this level for a long time. He cut off a piece, and the insides were oozing with cheese and perfectly cooked egg, as well as chunks of ham and chives. It was simple, but it was...heartwarming.

_ Fuck _ , he thought.  _ Sokka does know how to cook, and he cooked for me _ . He didn’t know why he found that so heartwarming, but it did.

_ No, he cooked for the vigilante _ , Zuko reminded himself. 

He didn’t know when the last time he had a homecooked meal was. 

It reminded him of someone.  _ His mother _ . The mother who he hadn’t seen in years. The mother who disappeared. The mother who used to cook him hot meals and let him help out in the kitchen. It made his heart ache, but it also sent a renewed warmth through his being. 

Zuko smiled.

He finished the entire meal in a mere matter of minutes. He was just that hungry.

Staring at the empty bowl and plate, there was a feeling inside him that he just couldn’t explain.

He slid the mask back on.

He had to leave. He couldn’t stick around any longer. He wasn’t supposed to be this close to Sokka. He wasn’t supposed to be this close to  _ anyone _ . 

Standing up was a whole other story, but Zuko had been through worse.

He left through the balcony, leaving the empty dishes next to the sofa in a neat stack. He briefly wondered if he should say thanks again. Maybe leave a note or something. He checked over his shoulder just in case Sokka had walked into the room. Something told him that he shouldn’t be sticking around until Sokka came back.

It was a while later that Sokka came in to pick up the dishes. There was no sign of the vigilante anywhere, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting that.

Once he saw the curtains fluttering in the wind, he just  _ knew _ .

He knew that wouldn’t be the last he was seeing of the vigilante.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, so stay tuned, and watch as every chapter I write starts to get longer and longer.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co)


	7. on the other side of the mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko digs himself another hole and Sokka is right there to hand him the shovel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing gay panic Zuko. Sokka is not excluded as well.

All the commentary Zuko could manage was staring.

Sokka was currently bent over the coffee machine, blissfully unaware of just how much his coworker was staring at him. From the moment Sokka had trudged into the office ready for another long day of researching for his articles and tormenting his coworkers, Zuko had laid his own two eyes upon Sokka and found himself positively stuck and unable to pull away.

Sokka had his hair up in a messy top knot instead of its usual gelled-up sweep, some strands of loose hair spilling over to frame his face. And he was wearing _glasses_ , the dark frames only serving to accentuate just how blue his eyes were. _Were his eyes always this blue?_ Instead of the usual slightly-tattered blue hoodie (the one he used to stop Zuko from bleeding out and dying) he huddled up in when at his desk fighting the cold blast of air-conditioning positioned straight overhead, he was donned in some sort of a leather-denim jacket that was just a little too tight-fitting, especially with the brown bag strapped across his chest. 

It was a magnificent sight, and one Zuko did not quite expect to see in the workplace so early in the morning. And one he certainly did not quite expect to be practically drooling over shamelessly from his own desk. 

He didn’t want to think about it, he really tried not to. But when Sokka had his back to him trying to fiddle with the cranky old coffee machine looking like _that_ , how could he not think about those tight black jeans and that _ass_? God, something was majorly wrong with him.

He whipped back to his screen, pretending to type a string of nonsense on an empty word document he had pulled up in his panic as Sokka walked straight towards him with two cups of coffee in hand and an unamused expression on his face. _Look away, look away, pretend you’re busy._ Zuko tried to fix any form of neutral expression onto his face, contorting it into some weird jumble of a glare and a grimace as he pretended to be focusing on "work”.

Maybe if pretended to be working, Sokka would walk right past without his usual jab or insult or witty remark about Zuko’s attire or work or general demeanor. A small pang of disappointment struck him square in the chest when he thought about how Sokka would not talk to him if he walked past, but in his haste he decided that was better than making a fool of himself.

Yet it didn’t work.

“I know you’re dying to comment about my appearance,” Sokka snorted. “Don’t think I can’t see you staring at me from all the way over there.”

 _Fuck, fuck!_ Zuko blanked, racking his brains and his soul and his heart to find an appropriate response, _any_ response at all, something that wouldn’t paint him to be the hopeless idiot who obviously was just staring at Sokka’s ass. Words were failing him.

“It’s... _different_ ,” he managed to choke out.

“You can say it.” Sokka leaned closer, as if waiting for Zuko to say something insulting.

 _God_ , _he’s so close_ . Zuko couldn’t even pretend to be typing anymore. It was as if Sokka was _trying_ to kill him. Which was ironic, considering he had saved his life after all. This was the same Sokka who was looking up at him in concern when he was practically bleeding out over his sofa. If he got any closer Zuko might just short-circuit and fall over backwards.

As he sunk back into the not-entirely-comfortable office chair, he winced a little, the slight pain of the healing cut a stark reminder of his misadventures. He was going to have to be better at hiding that.

“You look...good? I mean, good. You look-” He gestured in a weird flurry of hand movements and face contortions, pressing his face into as plain and unassuming an expression as he could possibly muster. “Good.”

“Oh.” Sokka’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. Then he managed to utter a slightly cautious “thanks”.

“I like your glasses,” Zuko tried again, sinking lower into his seat. _What kind of fucking compliment was that? “I like your glasses”? He may as well have said he liked Sokka’s workroom desk or something ridiculous like that_.

“Who are you and what have you done with Zuko?” Sokka squinted. “I can’t tell if you’re sarcastic or not.”

“Since when was I the sarcastic one?” Zuko tried to sit straight up, fiddling with his own tie. It was getting a little bit too warm in here for his liking. 

“Hm.” Sokka set down one cup of coffee. “Here’s your coffee.”

“Me? For me?” Zuko pointed to himself, trying desperately to make sense of this situation. He inspected the cup, trying to look for any potential traps or some kind of sign to tell him this was a practical joke or something. 

“No, it’s for your desk, _of course it’s for you_ ,” Sokka quipped. “Don’t make such a big fuss about it.”

“Thanks...” Zuko took the cup, eyes not leaving Sokka just in case he was dreaming. Maybe the coffee was secretly poisoned or something, he wasn’t quite certain what was what when it came to Sokka.

“My blog is gaining traction,” Sokka announced proudly and nudged Zuko slightly out of the way to type in a link on his computer. “I have more readers subscribing to it by the day.”

“Still on that vigilante trail?” Zuko asked, willing his mouth to keep speaking as long as he wasn’t focusing on how _close_ Sokka was now. “I thought you would have given it up by now.”

“In your dreams,” Sokka snorted. “I think the vigilante is warming up to me.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. There was the persistent, and slightly annoying Sokka that he knew. But maybe Sokka was right. Maybe he was dreaming. Any moment now and he would wake up from this weird fever dream. He took a sip of the coffee again just to make sure it was a real cup of actual coffee that wasn’t a fragment of his dream. Sokka made him coffee? The sun must be rising from the west.

“Look, I’ve figured out what the vigilante is tracking.” Sokka pulled up some pages and outlines detailing a whole case. There was a picture of a nightclub sitting unceremoniously in the middle of the document with its familiar tacky gilded double doors and white walls. _Ares Nightclub_. 

“What do you mean?”

“The vigilante is trying to track _drugs_ ,” Sokka explained. “It led him to this nightclub here, which I believe is the base of operations of some crime or drug lord or something.”

So that’s why Sokka followed him there.

He figured that Sokka would be good at his job, but this was actually quite impressive.

“You do know this is getting dangerous right?” Zuko urged. “What if you really get hurt?”

“It’s always been dangerous,” Sokka murmured. “I’m so close to finding out what the vigilante is looking for.”

Zuko was torn. He admitted, he was warming up to Sokka in more ways than the journalist knew. As the vigilante, he had noticed multiple times when Sokka was trailing him, but he didn’t say anything or confront him. Sokka knew how to stay out of the way, especially now that he had learnt since the nightclub incident. Plus, it made Zuko feel kind of almost...warm, that he knew someone was looking out for him.

But then again, he didn’t want Sokka to be involved in all this. Sokka was a _journalist_ , a good-looking one but looks and sarcasm weren’t going to help him when he was out there in the field tracking a crime network. Zuko couldn’t be looking out for him every single moment of the night. What if he looked away for a second and Sokka winded up hurt?

He shuddered, trying to banish the thought from his mind.

“They have been using kids for their own nefarious purposes,” Sokka mumbled, scrolling through the pages trying to back up his claim. “Spreading drugs, poisoning today’s youth and all that jazz.”

“But you don’t think that’s all they’re doing.” Zuko knew Sokka had more to say.

“Bingo.” Sokka stopped on a page and pulled Zuko’s chair closer to the desk, trying to wave the facts in his face. “They’re using the nightclub too, people are getting high off their asses in there and it’s only getting worse.”

“ _It’s attracting more clientele_ ,” Zuko breathed, skimming over the weeks of research Sokka had been doing. He had been suspicious of this part of the puzzle for a very long time, and Sokka had just confirmed his theory.

“My thoughts exactly.” Sokka turned to Zuko, any feelings of animosity melting off his face.

He stared at Zuko as if he was seeing him for the first time, his eyes searching Zuko’s own. It was making Zuko _very_ hot under the collar, and he was very, very aware of just how close their faces were with the two of them jammed in front of the computer like that. He struggled trying not to look down at Sokka’s lips that were very obviously right there.

And then Sokka pulled away first, coughing.

Zuko let out the breath he found himself holding.

“But there’s one point you’re missing,” Zuko spoke.

“There it is.” Sokka folded his arms. “I was wondering where Zuko went.”

Zuko ignored that jab. “Where are they getting the shipment from?”

That was the one thing he had never been able to figure out. If he could intercept the shipment route, he could stop the drugs from ever entering the city.

“Ah, now that I’m not quite sure,” Sokka admitted.

“Hm.” Zuko said, not particularly disappointed. He hadn’t expected Sokka to come this far either.

“Well, I’m sure you think you can do better.” Sokka was back to his usual self, the Sokka who looked like he could glare a hole through Zuko’s head. “If you’re _such_ a good crime reporter, why don’t you take a stab at the case?”

“Yeah, sure,” Zuko blurted out. Curse his traitorous mouth. “I don’t see why not.”

His hopes of Sokka not hearing him were dashed to bits when he saw the wide eyes and gaping mouth.

Sokka quickly composed himself.

“Wait, really?”

Zuko got himself into this. He dug his own grave.

“I guess I have to say yes now that I’ve agreed,” Zuko sighed.

“Well, my place?” Sokka offered. He was honestly quite surprised his voice came out smooth and calm given the thunderous mess his heart was right now. _Zuko_ offered to help him with his case. He didn’t know why it made him quite so flustered, but he was trying his damndest not to let it show on his face.

Meanwhile, Zuko was fighting his own battle, trying not to let his immediate panic overtake his senses and render him dead on the spot instantly. Did Sokka just invite him to his house? He just invited _Zuko_ to his house, and sure Zuko had been there before but not as himself, but as the vigilante, and this was an offer that was not banking on a life-or-death situation like the last time (literally) and Sokka had spoke first. 

He really must be dreaming. Maybe he should pinch himself to wake up first before the disappointment hit him later.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Zuko managed to speak through his haze of confusion. Even if this was a dream, he was going to see this through till the end.

“Great! 7pm?” Sokka cursed at himself inside. _“7pm?”_ That sounded so much like he was picking Zuko up for a date. Not that he wouldn’t pick Zuko up for a date, but he could not be thinking that right now. He needed to slap himself. This was Zuko he was talking to. Zuko, the son of one of the most corrupt billionaires in the city. Zuko, the trust fund kid. Zuko, who he had sworn to dislike with a great fervor ever since he set eyes upon him for the first time in the office.

Instead, he said, “Sure, I’ll make dinner.”

And then he was gone. He had run all the way back to his desk.

Zuko wanted to scream in frustration. He slapped his keyboard, almost on the verge of asking it what the hell was wrong with him.

_What had he gotten himself into this time?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, stay tuned!
> 
> tumblr - emptyheadspace


	8. dinner at seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Sokka pore over research and have dinner together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am loving writing this dynamic.

“So.” Sokka gestured vaguely, grasping at what little semblance was left of his composure. “This is my house.”

“Yes,” Zuko replied, eloquently.

He stood awkwardly in the doorway of the small apartment. The place felt different in the fading evening sun, having adopted an almost serene and peaceful feel. Nothing had changed about it, the sofa and the coffee table and the crime boards were still very much intact. The only thing that was different was how neat and tidy everything was, as if Sokka had spent time getting everything in order before his visit. 

“I’ll go get all the materials,” Sokka said. “We can work on it before dinner.”

“Okay,” Zuko could only say. He did not know why Sokka was being much less aggressive than usual, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to ask. 

Sokka vanished into one of the rooms, leaving Zuko alone in the quiet of the living room.

This was the first time he had truly gotten a good look at the place. Maybe it felt so much quieter when he was not bleeding out and dying on Sokka’s sofa, but there was a definite difference. It reminded him a little of his uncle’s house, but with a lot more Sokka in it. It was warm and cozy, felt lived in, like there was actual life here instead of the sterile blankness and impersonality of the penthouses his family lived in. Everything felt so soothing and comfortable, like an actual _home_.

“Here.” Sokka dropped a pile of paper folders and stacks of files on the coffee table. The corners of newspaper articles peeked out of them, and Zuko could see papers punctuated with paperclips and post-it notes filled with Sokka’s scrawly, flat handwriting. 

“That is a lot of research,” Zuko noted.

“Told you I did my homework,” Sokka said, almost proudly.

He didn’t quite know just how many hours he had spent working on his cases for his blog, tracing patrol routes, pinning down just who the vigilante was tracking. He always wrote just enough to keep readers up to date on the vigilante’s exploits, but leaving enough room to keep them hanging and coming back for more of his posts. Every single second not occupied by his work at the paper was most likely filled up with thoughts of the vigilante, how the vigilante was doing, what the vigilante was doing, was the vigilante safe, the vigilante, the vigilante, the vigilante. Sokka sometimes wondered if his preoccupation with the vigilante was starting to turn into an obsession.

“You like stalking this guy, huh?” Zuko voiced out, as if reading his thoughts.

“It’s not stalking, it’s journalism,” Sokka huffed.

“Journalism is just professional stalking,” Zuko quipped, picking up the closest paper folder. It contained all the information Sokka had dug up about Ares Nightclub, including address, customer lists, and club activities.

“Can’t disagree with that.” Sokka settled down on the couch, picking up his notes about the potential drugs that the nightclub was trying to get out there. “Do you think they have an established customer base?”

“Of course, what kind of question is that?” Zuko turned to look at him. A famous nightclub like Ares Nightclub had such a wide selection of clientele that if they weren’t already capitalizing on that he would be totally taken aback. 

“I was just testing you!” Sokka retorted.

“Sure you were,” Zuko snorted.

Sokka lobbed a cushion at his head.

“Ow!” 

Sokka hid a smile behind the paper he was holding up.

Zuko couldn’t help but smile too.

They sat in silence for a bit, with Zuko scanning briefly over everything on the table and making his own mental notes. He couldn’t reveal too much about his own research, lest it made Sokka suspicious that he was so well-informed about this case. He had to remember that to Sokka, he was just the annoying work colleague who Sokka had invited over to help him with his case. 

Sokka meanwhile was still trying to digest the fact that Zuko had actually agreed to come over, and that the same Zuko was seated in front of his coffee table looking at his work. The same Zuko who had dissed his article pitch and discouraged them from pursuing his lead. He looked up occasionally from his notes, staring at Zuko’s very focused face. What had changed? 

He couldn’t help but think that Zuko’s outfit was a nice change of pace from the ties and dress shirts that workplace Zuko was so fond of. He was dressed more casually, a red and gold bomber jacket layered over a plain black shirt, and straight-cut jeans that made him look almost _softer_ . His hair was down too, instead of gelled up in a hairstyle that Sokka frankly thought made him look obnoxious. It was indeed a nice change to see Zuko in something other than tight-cut suit pants, not that those pants weren’t the perfect chance for Sokka to... _never mind_ . He was supposed to be _focused_. He was supposed to be finding answers. 

The two of them pored over article after article and so much information that even Sokka’s head was spinning from his own handwriting. He gradually sunk deeper and deeper into a sprawl across his own sofa, his spine easing up now that the shock of seeing Zuko in his own house had relatively dissipated.

They had tossed ideas back and forth (OK, Sokka had been tossing ideas back and forth with Zuko’s occasional grunts of disagreement) but nothing new had surfaced. The sky outside had darkened, and the energy in the room had became more manic than calm as they struggled to analyze every bit of information on the table. 

“I think we should take a break,” Sokka announced, swinging his legs off the sofa. “I’m gonna go make food, then we can eat and continue.”

Zuko nodded.

“I’m going to keep looking,” he said simply. 

Sokka stared at him for a moment. _Weren’t his eyes getting tired_? Either way, he shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen. He didn’t know what was going through his head when he offered to make dinner for the both of them, but he had to uphold his hospitality as a host and make it good at least.

Zuko had to find something. He was not getting any leads on his side, even when he was poring over his own research under lamplight in the middle of the night. He was not going to give up such a big lead. The nightclub. The alcohol. The drugs. There had to be some other way the drugs were getting into the city. The alcohol brand they used was a local business, made and produced in the far end of the city, but the city nonetheless. So that couldn’t be it.

He had spent so long thinking—his head swirling with words and numbers—that he was startled by the banging of pots and the unmistakable clang of someone dropping a spoon coming in from the kitchen.

_ Sokka was cooking again _ .

“Do you need any help?” He found himself wandering into the kitchen, where Sokka stood with the most ridiculously endearing apron fastened around his waist. 

“How good are you with a knife?” Sokka raised his spatula in question.

“Pretty decent.”  _ Better than you think _ , Zuko couldn’t help but muse. Fighting with twin daggers and chopping up vegetables may not exactly be the same thing, but he was good with a blade either way. But right now, that wasn’t the only thing that was running through his head. 

He was pretty sure those were bison motifs printed on Sokka’s apron. He was also pretty sure he was staring, but he couldn’t find it in himself to even pretend he was not.

“Hey!” Sokka waved his spatula threateningly as Zuko threw up his hands in mock defeat. “It’s a good apron. Ever heard of kitchen hygiene?”

“I think it’s pretty cute.” Zuko shrugged and moved past Sokka, grabbing the knife hanging off the rack beside the sink. “What do you want me to cut?”

Sokka blanked.

Did Zuko really just compliment his fucking apron?

“Sokka?”

“Uhhhhhhh, here.” Sokka whirled around wildly, grabbing the first thing he saw. 

_ Chives _ , he registered vaguely.  _ That’s fantastic _ . 

“I assume you know what these are?”

“I’m not stupid, Sokka,” Zuko stated, cocking an eyebrow.

He wasn’t the greatest cook around, but he knew a thing or two about preparing food. His uncle had made sure of that, saying something about not letting his favorite and only nephew starve to death out in the wilderness of the city. Zuko thought he had made fair progress so far, considering how he started out burning everything he set on the stove to a crisp. At least now he had gathered enough expertise not to burn the whole kitchen down.

Zuko looked around the kitchen, noting all the ingredients laid out on the sink—chives, eggs, milk, cheese, luncheon meat—Sokka must be making omelettes again.  _ Maybe that’s all he knows how to make _ , he found himself thinking. Not that he was complaining. Sokka did know how to make a mean omelette. 

“Okay, just making sure.” Sokka raised both his hands in a gesture of peace, before returning to cracking the eggs into a bowl. Since the vigilante had appeared to find his omelette dish appealing—given that he had polished the bowl off in no time—he found it safe to assume that Zuko would like it too.

Zuko would never have thought that chopping up chives could be therapeutic, but here he was. The steady rhythm of the knife meeting the wood of the chopping board eased out the worries in his head and the nerves in his heart. It was a nice little domestic scene—the fading sunlight filtering through the window grilles and the taste of the night wind filling the little space. Sokka was a shoulder’s length away beating the eggs, the clinking of fork against porcelain punctuating his thoughts. It felt comfortable, and easy, and everything that his life never was.

They worked in silence for a while, but a comfortable sort of silence instead of the awkward pauses that Zuko was so used to in his conversations with Sokka at work. It was actually a really nice change of pace.

Zuko set aside the pile of chives, moving on to dicing the block of spam. Well, moved on to  _ opening _ the can of spam so he could dice it. He could spy Sokka trying not to laugh at his feeble attempts to get the can open, but clearly he was failing from the amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Hey, you try opening the can okay?” Zuko grumbled. “The tab’s stuck.”

“I’m sorry you haven’t heard of a can opener,” Sokka chuckled. “They were invented only about I don’t know, two hundred years ago?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Zuko snorted, grabbing the can opener and finally,  _ finally _ , getting the damned can open. He had always been a big fan of spam, and he didn’t really get why everybody said it was too salty for their liking. You could put spam in anything, really. It went with eggs, it went with instant ramen, it went with rice, you could even have it on its own if you’re not a coward. It was a very versatile meal item and definitely on the top of Zuko’s pathetic grocery list when he actually bothered to go out and get food.

“I also have sashimi sushi in the fridge,” Sokka recalled.

Zuko nodded, moving automatically to retrieve it from the fridge.

Once he looked inside, he was stunned by the selection of food on the shelves. The fridge was overflowing with an impressive assortment of fresh food, as well as an abundance of milk and cheese and yoghurt. Was it even legal for someone to have that much dairy in their fridge? There was meat of all kinds: ham, chicken tenders, beef cutlets, pork belly cuts, even parts of a whole chicken neatly bagged into pieces. 

Out of sheer curiosity he yanked open the freezer as well. Boxes upon boxes of everything greeted him along with the whoosh of cold air. He found himself eyeing the boxes of frozen pizza and dumplings hungrily, but he couldn’t be so rude as to empty out Sokka’s freezer too and betray his hospitality. Instead, he settled for reading the labels of the various half-opened boxes of ice-cream and popsicles and jelly melts that sat on the sides. He was gobsmacked by the sheer snacking potential that Sokka’s fridge contained. 

It was a shocking comparison to his own glaringly empty fridge. He didn’t quite bother with groceries, at most eating ramen packets and instant noodle cups most days. If he was feeling fancy, he might even add an egg or two. On certain days, he would get takeout if he was too lazy to even fire up the stove and get some water boiling.

At least now he knew an omelette wasn’t the only thing Sokka knew how to cook.

“Your fridge,” he said dumbly.

“What about it?” Sokka glanced over, buttering up the pan.

“It’s so full.” 

“Uh, that’s all fridges Zuko.”

“Not mine.” Zuko shrugged. “I don’t have anything in my fridge. Except maybe a head of cabbage. Some jello cups. I don’t really know.”

Sokka froze, leaving the butter in the pan to sizzle over the heat. Zuko didn’t have a full fridge? Wasn’t his family supposed to be rich? What kind of family doesn’t spend on groceries? Could he even imagine a life without a well-stocked fridge? What kind of living nightmare was that? Maybe Zuko didn’t even look in the fridge? Was it possible not to know what was in your own fridge?

“I don’t bother to get groceries,” Zuko explained, grabbing the sake and the tray of sashimi.

“Don’t you have someone to help you for that?” 

“Huh?” Zuko straightened up, confused. “I live alone.”

“Oh,” Sokka blanked. “I thought you lived with your family.”

“Nah.” Zuko laid the food out on the small table. “I moved out a long time ago.”

“Ah,” Sokka said simply.

He had always harbored this preconceived notion of Zuko being a spoilt rich kid who had no idea how to cook. A rich kid with helpers to do everything for him, or at least money that could get him anywhere, but now he was starting to doubt his own impression. Zuko lived alone? Maybe he understood the struggle. Maybe his home life wasn’t as picture perfect as Sokka had always thought. If anything, his very sad fridge was a testament to that notion.

The omelette was almost done, the egg sizzling and cooking at a very nice and even temperature. He liked his eggs extremely buttery and creamy, soft and fluffy, enough to rival the clouds in the sky. It was developing a crispy brown char around the edges and the underside, and he had taken great care to flip it as little as necessary. There was no sense in disturbing a masterpiece.

“My world-famous omelette!” Sokka declared, depositing the steaming egg onto a plate and sliding it onto the table with a flourish. “I don’t eat out as often, so I cook this a lot.”

“Ah,” Zuko said, impressed. “I don’t cook.”

“You don’t?” Sokka frowned. “What do you eat then?”

“Instant noodles,” Zuko said softly, almost willing Sokka not to hear him.

“WHAT.” There was the famous Sokka outburst. “Like, every day?”

Zuko nodded even slower.

“That’s it.” Sokka shook his head. “You need actual food. Now,  _ eat _ before I shove it down your throat myself.”

He didn’t need to tell Zuko twice. 

Zuko sampled a small corner of the omelette. It was just as warm and cheesy and good as he last remembered it to be. The small bursts of flavor from the chives and the spam exploded inside his mouth, dancing across his tastebuds like nobody’s business. It was a simple dish but he couldn’t deny that it was  _ really fucking good _ .

“Thanks,” he remembered to say after a few minutes of speechless enjoyment.

“Don’t mention it.” Sokka waved his chopsticks around, his bowl of rice in one hand.

They actually had a decent conversation over the meal, involving work and hobbies and everything under the sun. Sokka was quite the talker, but it was surprisingly easy to talk to him, Zuko had realized. Maybe they had just gotten off on the wrong foot and now they were finally mending it. He found himself relaxing, untensing all the muscles in his shoulders and back. With good food and quality conversation, he was feeling pretty good after weeks of sleep deprivation and poorly pieced-together meals.

Zuko picked up a piece of sashimi sushi. This was good too, but he wasn’t sure if Sokka made it. Would it offend him to ask?

“Hey, this is good,” he said.

“Yeah? I got it from the diner downtown,” Sokka said. “I heard they ship it in fresh every day or something.”

 _Wait_. 

Zuko shot up from his seat.

“What are you doing?” Sokka watched as Zuko rummaged through the pile, fishing out a piece of colorful laminated paper.

“It’s the menu,” Zuko said. 

Sokka had procured the menu for Ares Nightclub to ascertain all the beverages that used that particular brand of alcohol. It was a fragile lead at best, but he couldn’t have discounted any possibilities. 

“What are you looking for?”

“Sushi.” Zuko turned the menu towards Sokka, pointing to their wide range of sushi. How had he missed it earlier?

“What are you talking about?”

“Here, it says they prepare it fresh on site.”

“What does that have to do with drugs?”

“Ship it every day…” Zuko reminded him of his own words.

Sokka’s eyes opened so wide they might just pop out of his skull.

“It’s in the fish!” They both shouted.

“Zuko, you’re a genius!” Sokka yelled.

“It must be coming in from the port!” Zuko yelled back.

This was big.

Zuko had his first lead in weeks. Sokka was finally going to write about the vigilante again.

And for the first time in weeks, the two of them felt something new: _hope_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, so stay tuned.
> 
> tumblr - emptyheadspace


	9. white coffee and sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Sokka come to a very terrifying revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the idiots in love trope. It speaks to my heart, and Zuko and Sokka are just that: idiots in love. Look, they don't know it yet though. Also watch my chapters get longer and longer.

“Coffee.” Sokka set down the cup on the desk. “I even added some creamer and sugar in it, you _baby_.”

Zuko made a face in response. Not everyone could stand the bitter bite of black coffee. He wasn’t even that much of a coffee drinker until Sokka had came along and decided that he would make him a cup every morning. He had always been more of a tea person, probably the influence of his uncle. Caffeine didn’t do much to keep his eyes peeled open when it came to the bleariness of work mornings, but he did appreciate a cup of something hot to sip on when he was trying to piece together his articles.

“Enjoy your _coffee_ ,” Sokka said, biting down on the word “coffee”. He usually wouldn’t be this petty about people putting creamer or sugar in their coffee (or the _horror_ , both), but he was always going to be petty when it came to Zuko. Not to mention Zuko liked his coffee with so much of the sweet stuff in it that it was practically white at this point. It was like he was _asking_ to be made fun of. “I have to many things to write to joke about how white your coffee is today.”

“Mm.” Zuko made an affirmative noise, grabbing the cup on instinct and taking a long, drawn-out sip. He would have thought of something witty to say back, but he was too preoccupied with the one thing at the forefront of his mind: Ares Nightclub. 

Long were the nights that he spent staring at blinding white screen in the dark, combing through everything he could dig up on the city’s only port. Ever since he had made the earth-shattering discovery with Sokka, he had been working at it harder than ever, his spirits renewed and hope on the horizon. This was the first breakthrough he had in weeks, and no way in hell was he going to give up on it now. Even if he had kind of hit a wall.

Zuko had been putting off vigilante duties in favor of his investigation. He hadn’t been going out as the Blue Spirit for slightly over a week now, instead staying up to research and rack his brains until he gave out and collapsed on the floor of his own apartment or at his desk at the office. Not to mention he was behind on his reporting work, so he had no time to do his investigation in the office when he was formatting articles for the paper. 

Besides. it felt strange going back to his own research after he shared that moment of revelation with Sokka. Even if they hadn’t surfaced much while discussing, it felt nice to have someone working on the same thing as you were. To have a fresh perspective other than his own taking a look at the same pieces of information over and over again. 

Meanwhile, Sokka was having his own problems juggling his journalist duties and his own blog posts. He was very well aware of the sudden (but hopefully temporary) disappearance of the Blue Spirit, and it was serving as a problem when all he had to queue for his blog are conspiracy theories and interviews of people speculating where the vigilante had gone. It was only a week, but the effect was pretty obvious. Comments and messages were flooding in, most wondering about the lack of substantial content on the page, and some theories and so-called sightings from his readers. Sokka appreciated the blog traffic, but it wasn’t easy for him too. It was like the vigilante had just... _stopped_.

He felt a pang of dread flagging at the back of his mind when he considered the possibility that the vigilante might have finally met his match. Every day he combed the news coming in for missing people, or dead bodies, or unidentified corpses, praying with all his might that none matched the description of a certain black-clad crime-fighter. Everyone had been commenting on his sudden increase in effort when it came to work ethics, but nobody knew the panic bubbling up inside him as the days passed by with no news.

 _Hell_ , Sokka was worried. He was worried about the man in the mask. He was past the point of wondering why he cared so much about the vigilante. He knew that he would be upset if something bad were to happen. He knew that much at least. He liked to think that they had some unspoken bond after that night behind the nightclub. Maybe the vigilante hated him for ruining his stakeout, but he didn’t care. Sokka had saved his damn life, and that should be saying something. Or at least, he wanted it mean something.

He sighed and took another sip of his coffee.

Hours on the clock flew by before Zuko even looked up from his desktop monitor just in time to catch the fading light in the sky outside. He briefly wondered if he should pause to eat something, but he could still hold out for a few hours before the hunger really kicked in the gut. He started to turn back to his screen, but then someone walked up to him.

“I’m going home,” Sokka said. “Can you turn off the lights when you leave?”

“Yeah, it won’t be that soon,” Zuko replied, burying himself deep into the words on his screen again. “Just go ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Sokka bent down to face Zuko (to his slight panic). It was like he was staring into Zuko’s soul. “Aren’t you eating dinner?”

Zuko flinched. It was not missed.

“You. This. Unacceptable.” Sokka placed both hands on his hips like some kind of frazzled mother hen. “You need to eat something, you’ve been working all day.”

He should know. He had been sneaking glances at Zuko from his own desk a few metres away. It was slightly behind Zuko’s, which meant that Sokka got many splendid opportunities to stare at his colleague and the back of that annoying pink dress shirt undisturbed. It was part of the reason he was getting less and less work done every day, and he knew he should stop, but Zuko was just right there. 

Zuko grunted eloquently in response.

“Nope, that’s it.” Sokka pulled Zuko out of his chair by the collar of said annoying pink dress shirt. “You’re having dinner at my place today.”

“Aren’t you tracking the vigilante?” Zuko tries.

“Not tonight.” _There was no way he was getting out of this_.

That was how Zuko found himself in Sokka’s apartment for the third time.

He wasn’t saying he was getting used to the place, but he  _ was _ kind of getting used to the cozy living room and the small kitchen and the windy balcony. It wasn’t that far from the office —only four bus rides away—and Zuko was certain that he had the route mapped out in his head already. How was he supposed to catch up on all the investigating he would be missing now that he had agreed to come with Sokka? Then again, even if he had said he was going home to eat, or going to the convenience store next door to get a snack, Sokka’s face was a clear sign that he was  _ not having any of it _ .

“Sit.”

Zuko sat down on the sofa obediently.

“I’m making my special fried noodles today,” Sokka announced, as if he was the head chef of a five-star restaurant dictating the in-house special to a new guest and not his very overworked and confused colleague. “Are you allergic to prawn?”

Zuko shook his head.

“Do you hate noodles?”

Zuko shook his head again.

“Do you drink?”

Zuko blanked out for a second. Did he drink? Should he drink? Should he say no? He was getting a little pent up these days. Maybe a drink would loosen him up a little. What if Sokka judged him for not drinking? Did Sokka drink? Was he just asking because he thought Zuko drank? What if he said something stupid and embarrassed himself?

He settled for a weak nod.

“Good, then sit and wait.”

And with that, Sokka disappeared into the kitchen.

Zuko did not dare move from his spot on the sofa. He could hear the various clings and clangs coming from the kitchen. The fridge opened several times. A can was popped open. Before long, the sound of sizzling hot oil and spatula movements started up. 

Part of him wondered if he should walk in to check on Sokka, even though there was no real need. He must admit that he felt just a little out of place being in Sokka’s house, even though he had most definitely been here before. Every time he found himself here it was for a different reason, and Zuko didn’t know what to think about that.

He didn’t know what to think about the idea of Sokka cooking for him either. Sure, he had done it before, but the first time had been for the Blue Spirit, for the vigilante who was bleeding out and dying on his couch. There was a moment of need and urgency, he had a legitimate reason to be making sure a dying man got his food. But this? Cooking for Zuko wasn’t necessary in any way or form. It made him confused. Why did Sokka care so much if he ate or not anyway? It wasn’t like he needed to feed Zuko. 

Not that he wasn’t appreciative. In fact, Zuko liked it very much. He liked that Sokka took time out of his day to make him a meal. He liked the idea that Sokka did care.

And that just made him even more confused. It’s not like they were friends or anything. This was only the second time they had spent time together outside of work, and the first was  _ for _ work, albeit a different kind of work. 

His head was spinning and a thousand questions pounded through his brain, but he didn’t want to think too much into it. Maybe Sokka was only taking pity on him. Maybe he was actually relenting and they were slowly becoming friends, no matter how crazy that sounded. Either way, Zuko was not going to discount his kindness, even if it was veiled with half-threats and many insults directed at himself.

Sokka finally emerged from the kitchen, bringing with him the delicious smells of fried garlic and onion.

“It’s time to feast your eyes upon my masterful creation,” Sokka declared, miming a chef’s kiss. He was wearing a different but equally adorable apron fastened over his head in a neat bow. This one had some sort of animal print on it.

Zuko found himself staring.

“Are those cows?”

“They’re  _ bisons _ ,” Sokka corrected him, waving the spatula around threateningly.

“Honest mistake!” Zuko raised his hands up.

Sokka led Zuko all the way to the stove and unlidded the wok.

A delicious burst of aroma shot up to meet him as he leaned forward to see what Sokka had cooked up. The sight of noodles should’ve made him curl up in distaste after his months-long consumption of soggy instant noodles, but it only made his mouth water more. These noodles were flat and golden brown, dripping with some sort of sauce. Juicy prawns were hidden like little treasures in their midst, buried amongst fried vegetables. The smell rising off the freshly-cooked dish was  _ heavenly _ . He was by no means in a position to judge, but this may very well be the most appetizing noodle dish he had seen in ages.

“See, much healthier and tastier than instant noodles!” 

Sokka watched as Zuko practically inhaled half of his plate in the first five minutes.

“I made extra so you can go for seconds, or thirds,” Sokka explained.

Zuko tried to say thanks through his mouthful of noodles, but it just made him sound like a bloated whale. The noodles were the best damn thing he’d tasted in months. Was his life really this sad, or was Sokka’s cooking just that good? He figured it had to be a combination of both.

“Ha! You sound like a bloated whale,” Sokka snorted, almost dropping his chopsticks.

“ _ Mmrph _ ,” Zuko tried to say, his eyebrows scrunching up.

Sokka burst out laughing.

“ _ Hrm he, plpmgrp _ ,” Zuko retorted through the noodles in his mouth.

Sokka had to put down his chopsticks to stifle a laugh.

“Hey, it’s good,” Zuko finally said after a long while of trying to hold back his own laughter staring at Sokka’s amused face.

“Of course it is.” Sokka put on his proudest expression. Truth be told, he wasn’t completely certain if Zuko would like it. Given how picky he was with his coffee, he wouldn’t be surprised if Zuko had found it terrible. But since he was devouring it at such an incredible pace, he decided to take Zuko at his word.

Zuko made an affirmative sound.

“Here.” Sokka poured Zuko some sake too.

“Thanks.” Zuko sampled it. He hadn’t had much sake before, he’ll admit. He didn’t drink that much beyond his teenage years, and even then he had never really gotten shitfaced drunk. A lot of kids in the circles he used to operate in would think of it as lame, but he was fine with that. He didn’t really see the appeal. It felt sad to drink alone. He wasn’t really much for it.

The sake tasted lighter than he had expected, the mild flavor running down his throat easy and cool. Zuko personally didn’t like most alcohols, especially the ones that actually tasted like alcohol. Those made his face scrunch up and his stomach wrinkle. Those made his face scrunch up and his stomach wrinkle. But this sake was actually much dryer, and there was a slight sweetness to it that surprised him. He found himself sipping it appreciatively, much like a good cup of tea.

Somehow, they found themselves standing in silence out on the balcony. The both of them were pressed up against the metal railing, sake in hand. It reminded Zuko of his uncle’s balcony, except much smaller and windier, but certainly not less cozy. If he leaned just a little over the edge, he could see the lights of the city in the distance, flickering in the night sky. It was a sight that Zuko usually only got to see from the rooftops when he was on the run. It was different here, from Sokka’s house. It was quiet. And calming. And peaceful.

“Glad to know your questionable beverage tastes don’t spread to alcohol.”

“Not everyone likes black coffee.” Zuko took another sip. “It’s bitter.”

“And alcohol is not?” Sokka asked.

“I don’t usually drink.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t like drinking alone,” he elaborated. Zuko didn’t know why he said that. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the city lights. Both were working together to make him feel more open than usual, more nostalgic even.

“Well, you’re not alone,” Sokka pointed out.

Zuko found himself turning to look at Sokka. Usually he did everything he could to avoid any unnecessary eye contact, or hurrying to compose himself every time Sokka caught him staring, but he was feeling particularly bold tonight. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he felt like doing everything that he didn’t usually have the courage to. Things like staring so openly at Sokka’s stupidly pretty face. Staring at the blue of his eyes, which stuck out even in the dim light filtering in from the living room. Staring at the way his hair fell around his face, and how he just let it hang freely around his face when he was at home. Staring at the way Sokka’s face had relaxed from the sake, no longer the tense furrow of features that plagued Zuko at his desk. Staring at the way his lips curled around the rim of the cup, and the slow sip that he took as he looked out onto the city, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

It was like he was seeing a part of Sokka that nobody else got to see. Not the wound-up and tense Sokka that huddled down at work. Not the sarcastic and snarky Sokka that threw insults every chance he got. Not the obsessive and passionate Sokka that talked about the Blue Spirit. This was a Sokka that was much softer, much easier, one who got along with Zuko and cooked for him and drank with him. One who made him coffee and creamer and sugar even though he would never give up teasing him for it. One whose laughter rang clear through the house, and whose smile made Zuko’s stomach do a little turn. 

It was like he was seeing Sokka for the first time.

And then his eyes trailed lower, tracing the curve of Sokka’s jaw and then down to his neck, dipping into the collar of a plain white shirt. Sokka wasn’t even wearing a jacket, exposing the muscle on his deceptively thin forearms, which were leaner than anyone gave him credit for. His darker skin lit up with a glow, and Zuko wondered what it would feel like if he could just run his fingers across it, to trace every line and to feel the warmth of it with his own hands. His eyes shot back up to Sokka’s lips and before he could catch himself, the image of him closing the small distance between them and pressing their lips together flashed through his mind. It would be so easy now that his inhibitions were gone to the wind and the sake, to feel Sokka against him while they stood on the balcony. To feel like nothing else mattered in the world.

And then he winced. 

What was he thinking? Sokka would never like him back that way. Hell, he didn’t even know if Sokka liked him as a friend or as a colleague in the first place. He didn’t even know if Sokka liked dudes. He wasn’t willing to throw away all the progress they had made so far just for the sake of one kiss. Even though it would probably be the best damn kiss he had ever experienced in his life. Not that he had much experience. But still.

He cursed at himself from the inside.

_ This is the alcohol talking. Hold it together, Zuko _ .

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Zuko, Sokka had found himself staring too. He found himself staring at Zuko’s face. At the way he had given up the usual annoyance fixed onto his face, the hardness in his cheeks and tension in his frown melting away with the night. Maybe it was the sake, but Zuko was laughing more easily at all of Sokka’s dumb jokes (dumber than usual, thanks sake), and letting himself smile more. It was weirdly endearing, and it made Sokka feel all warm inside.

Sokka found himself staring at the scar. He promised himself that he wouldn’t say anything about it, would never make Zuko uncomfortable, and never to stare at it. But now that his brain was a little wiry and his thoughts all cotton, he could not take his eyes off Zuko’s face, and after roving and searching it, his eyes always wandered back to the scar. It was the first thing most people commented on when they spoke to Zuko, but he had never brought it up himself. Never asked Zuko about it. A long time ago he had decided that he didn’t have to know the story behind the scar.

And now that his eyes were searching Zuko, he realized that he could no longer see the spoiled trust fund kid he had first made him out to be. He could no longer see the asshole he thought Zuko was. He could no longer see the prickly and irritable crime reporter that had moved into the desk a few metres in front of his.

This was Zuko. The Zuko who drank white coffee and wore too many dress shirts and loved his cooking and drank sake like an old man. 

He slapped himself internally. The sake wasn’t even that strong. He was stronger than this. He needed to stop daydreaming about Zuko. Right the fuck now.

_ One last look, Sokka. One last look _ .

Sokka turned to Zuko again.

_ I need to stop. _

Zuko turned at the same time.

They locked eyes, faces dangerously close to each other.

And it was in that moment that the both of them came to the same terrifying revelation.

_ Shit, do I like him _ ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update every week, so stay tuned.
> 
> (also sike if you thought they were gonna kiss in the end when they turned around at the same time)
> 
> tumblr - emptyheadspace


	10. manual focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sokka invites Zuko on a "work assignment".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh? You're invested. So am I.

“Yo, Zuko.” 

Zuko whirled around, his desk chair nearly catching on the carpeted floor and sending him smacking face-first into the ground. He quickly collected himself, only to quickly descend into stutters when he saw that it was Sokka standing right behind him. He hugged the binder he was flipping through to his chest, as if it would help shield him from inevitable embarrassment. 

“I’m going to photograph a lesser-known arts district further out in the city,” Sokka started, trying to play it as casual as he possibly could. He lapsed into an overly-casual lean onto the side of Zuko’s monitor. “Do you wanna come with me?”

“Me? Come with you?” Zuko parroted. “Why do you need me to come with you?”

That was not the response he wanted give.

That was not the response Sokka was expecting either.

“Mmmm well, I’m just not that familiar with that part of the city...and I’d like to go with a friend so if I get lost I’m not just out there wandering the streets alone,” Sokka said. He hadn’t thought this far, but as far as making things up on the spot went, that reason sounded pretty legit. He just hoped Zuko wouldn’t ask any more questions. 

“Okay, sure,” Zuko said. _Be still my beating heart_ , did Sokka just call him his friend? 

“Great, I’m leaving in an hour, so get whatever work done now and meet in the lobby?” Sokka turned around, hiding the excitement on his face. He didn’t know why he was so excited. _This is not a date, NOT a date_ . He was simply inviting his very male and very good-looking coworker on a work thing, as a friend, _not_ something more. He needed to be chill, keep his cool, play it smooth.

“Yeah, sounds great!” Zuko responded, a little too excitedly. He too whirled back to face his desk, hoping that none of his lost composure showed up on his face.

“Great! See you in an hour.” Sokka turned to leave. 

Needless to say, Zuko didn’t get much work done in the hour to come.

Zuko had been growing increasingly restless ever since he had the terrifying revelation that he might have a crush on his coworker. A _crush_! They were grown-ups, for god’s sake, he told himself. He shouldn’t be having a stupid crush, shouldn’t be feeling his heart skip a beat every time Sokka leaned in slightly, shouldn’t be feeling all the words jammed up and his tongue tying every time he tried to say something in response. It was embarrassing, and he didn’t know what he should do about it. He just had to wrestle with the reminder of its existence every time he looked over at Sokka, and hoped that it would stay down and that he would never have to confront his own crush for the rest of his living days. 

But well, the universe wasn’t so kind after all. After their sake adventure, Sokka had seemed to warm up to Zuko even more. He had started to invite Zuko over for dinner more and more, and their conversations were no longer simply filled with insults and sarcasm, but actual conversations about life and work and hopes and dreams. Zuko didn’t know what to make of it. On one hand he was happy that Sokka no longer seemed to hate him, but on the other hand, this sudden camaraderie they shared was _not_ helping his rapidly growing crush.

And when he packed up his desk and went to meet Sokka in front of the office building, he was already trying to keep it together again. Sokka had removed his blue jean jacket, which was a rare sight, and tied it around his waist. His hair was pulled back into his signature bun again, and a bulky black camera bag was slung over his shoulder and resting at his waist, the strap meeting with a tripod carrier slung across the other shoulder and over his back.

“I see you’ve got your equipment ready,” Zuko commented, willing himself to say _anything_ besides commentate on Sokka’s looks. 

“Yeah, I’ve got my DSLR in here.” Sokka patted the bag resoundingly. “And a few other lenses in here along with a tripod.”

Zuko nodded. He wasn’t much for camera lingo, but he could follow well enough. He wouldn’t much of a reporter if he didn’t know how to work with his photojournalist. Well, not _his_ photojournalist, just any photojournalist in general, definitely not Sokka he was thinking about, nope. 

They fell into a comfortable rhythm of small talk while waiting for the bus; Zuko commenting on the weather and the state of the office’s steadily declining air-conditioning, and Sokka talking about a black cat he saw under his block that morning and the sounds the wonky coffee machine made. Before they knew it, the bus was here, and it was mainly empty with a few other passengers occupying spaced out seats.

Zuko filed into a window seat, with Sokka sliding it right next to him.

After the bus started moving, Sokka’s camera bag started thumping on the edge of the seat, and he wrestled with the few ways he could place the bag without causing earthly disruptance to the other people on the bus.

“Here, you can sit closer if you want,” Zuko offered without thinking, and then he was instantly slapping himself again internally. He quickly added, “I don’t mind, and you can put the bag on the seat next to you.”

“Thanks,” Sokka said, equally flustered as he scooted closer to Zuko a little, hiking the bag up to the little space cleared next to him. 

Was it just him, or did it become a lot hotter in here?

Now that Sokka was practically bumping shoulders with him, Zuko had no idea what to say. It was like a logjam of words stuffed into the back of his throat, the idea of small talk flying completely out the window. Maybe he should throw himself out the window too before he _dies_ in his own awkwardness. All he could focus on was the warmth right next to him, the presence of Sokka, the actual Sokka, sitting almost impossibly close to his right. He might just get a heart attack in the next ten minutes of this bus ride.

Sokka was trying not to think about Zuko. It was like a mantra that he repeated over and over in his head. _Don’t think about Zuko. Don’t think about Zuko. Don’t think about how close he is. Don’t think. Just stare straight ahead. That’s right, right out the front, don’t look to your left, oh god he’s so close, no stop don’t--_ It could quite possibly be the longest short bus ride Sokka had ever taken in his life.

And then the worst, or best possible thing that could possibly happen, happened.

The bus hit a particularly stubborn hump.

In that moment, four things happened in quick sucession.

One, the bus jolted up, sending Sokka flying leftwards into his already very wound up coworker, his entire body weight slamming into Zuko and his bags flying in multiple directions. It was like a slow motion freeze frame in a movie right before the disaster. 

Two, before Zuko could stop himself from doing anything embarrassing or even register what was happening with the blur of motion hurtling towards him, his arms were already flying out on instinct to catch a half-flying Sokka from crashing into the window.

Three, Zuko had let out an embarrassingly loud squeal as Sokka landed right in his arms, his entire right shoulder pressing up against Zuko’s chest as he braced for a fall that never came. 

Four, Zuko immediately dropped Sokka, who went crashing into the seat in front of them before he could find his balance to get back up. 

“I’m so sorry,” Zuko managed to choke out through his panic, an impossible heat creeping up his face. _He just touched Sokka. And dropped Sokka_. “Are you okay?”

“Yep, just fine!” Sokka quickly retreated to his seat, fastening his back into the headrest and grounding his feet into the floor to keep any further accidents from happening. Maybe the sound of his lenses rattling about in the bag every time the bus moved was better than whatever punishment the gods had deemed him worthy for with _that_ incident. His neck was burning up, and the feeling of Zuko’s strong arms catching him where he fell was still very much lingering on his skin. If he survived this bus ride, he was definitely going to be staying up late thinking about this at night.

It felt like a very awkward eternity, but the bus finally reached their stop.

“Behold, the Renga Plaza,” Sokka announced to no one other than Zuko once they stepped off the bus. The awkwardness from earlier on had dissipated the moment they emerged onto the plaza.

Renga Plaza was like the city centre but for the edge of the city. It looked very different in the day, compared to the empty and slightly ominous place that it was at night when Zuko was patrolling the area as the Blue Spirit. The statue of the founder sitting in the middle of the plaza was decidedly less frightening than the dark stone figure it turned into at night that stared at him every time he passed through. The plaza itself wasn’t very big, but the buildings surrounding it were short and sparse, giving it the illusion of open space. 

“This district is pretty famous for its graffiti murals, and street art,” Sokka said. “Not to mention the food’s really good too.”

Zuko reckoned that Sokka must be more familiar with this place than he was, especially in the day. Even though he was already familiar with this part of town at night, he still found himself staring wildly around like he was seeing this place for the first time when it was still bright out. Besides, Sokka’s apartment was definitely much closer to the plaza than the office or his own place. 

“I’m doing an article on the declining number of street artists and increasingly strict laws on free expression,” Sokka explained further. “People don’t get to spray paint as many walls as they want these days because apparently it’s illegal now.”

“You do seem like someone who loves to examine the line between what’s legal and illegal,” Zuko said, half-joking.

“You could say that,” Sokka replied. Well, that much was true. As the writer for the blog of the Blue Spirit, he was practically inviting the attention of the law onto himself. He knew that he would be associated with the vigilante especially since his blog had gained more viewers. Word of it reaching the law was almost inevitable at this point. Not that he was particularly scared of that. He was fully prepared, and even expecting a confrontation. The world could come at him, but he would never give up writing about the Blue Spirit. He was too far in to even consider.

Sokka fastened a wide angle lens to his DLSR. It would allow him to capture the full length of any murals he would be seeking out, but also include other subjects like people in the frame if he was lucky enough to find the artists responsible.

“Let’s go.” Sokka led Zuko down a road into a little alley.

Zuko had been finding himself in too many alleys these days.

The place was much different from the dark and shady alleys Zuko was used to. It was almost _vibrant_ in the way the sprawling reach of shapes and colors weaved and twisted into the murals on the two walls. The graffiti crumpled into rainbows and suns and moons, weaving and turning into the skyscape of a stunning rendition of the highway just south of the plaza that the bus had turned in from. Colors and lines erupted from the spray paint on the wall, bursting into flowers and local plant varieties and a caricature of the founder of the plaza. It was such a bizarre and colorful contrast to the dusty alley floor, a living piece of art that exploded all over the walls. In that moment Zuko understood why graffiti could be so artistic. 

He was starstruck. He had never noticed such detail, especially when they were covered by the darkness of night and hazed over by the adrenaline and the danger. All the walls just looked dark and shadowy to him at night. He had almost forgotten how to stop and admire things like these in his fast-paced life.

Sokka was unusually quiet. He was in awe too. It was hard not to be, standing in front of something so detailed and creative. He quietly took off the lens cap from his camera and tried different compositions of the murals. There was an appealing angle every which way he turned, and it was like the shutter couldn’t stop firing as his camera ate up the art. These photographs were going up on the front page of the paper next week if he had anything to say about it. 

The click of the shutter was kind of relaxing. While Sokka was doing his thing, Zuko had just been presented with a very prime opportunity to do something that he didn’t usually get to do when he was standing this close to Sokka: stare. He watched as the photojournalist twisted and bent into different positions as he clicked the shutter button, a little dance he did with the camera. It was quite incredible to watch, and he knew it wasn’t the point of photography but watching Sokka trying to get the right shot was like an art form in itself. He just, couldn’t stop staring. _Could anyone blame him, really_?

“Okay, I think I’m done with this location,” Sokka announced, flipping through his gallery. He had just taken about a few hundred photos of the same thing, but anything for the art.

He turned to Zuko, his forehead slicked with sweat, and a few strands of brown hair draping into his face. “Let’s move on.”

Zuko knew he was truly and utterly fucked.

Zuko hugged the camera bag to his chest as Sokka fiddled with the tripod. 

They were perched high up on the side of a random grassy hill, the kind that curved slightly over a busy highway down below in the distance—the cars rushing past and paying no mind to them. The sky was quickly losing light, and Sokka was wrestling against the clock, trying to root the tripod to the right spot to capture the perfect angle of the sunset.

Zuko inhaled, the smell of soil and grass and trees filling his lungs. They had hiked up here from the plaza after perusing a few more notable locations. This was the final location, and the one that Sokka had been waiting for. Zuko could see why now. The sunset was  _ breathtaking _ , to say the least. Pink and yellow and orange painted the sky in deeply rich hues, entrancing him with a vibrance that he didn’t usually get to see from his desk in the office. Something sweet and mildly floral drifted past on the breeze, light and easy on his skin. The fading calls of a bird or two settling down in the trees for the night sounded behind him, somewhere deep within the cluster of trees that surrounded the higher reaches of the hill.

Sokka finally managed to wrestle the tripod into place. He fastened his camera to the stand, angling it to face the sunset. He had cycled through a plethora of different lenses throughout the course of the day, but he was back to his trusty wide-angle lens again. He did want to capture the sunset, but he also wanted a little something more to his photograph. The traffic below and the lights of the city would be perfect for a long-exposure photo. It would be exquisite if he played his cards right. 

Admittedly, this was not part of the work assignment. It was more for himself. That was part of the beauty of photography, he got to steal beautiful moments like this for himself. As he clicked the shutter, he held his breath, waiting for the photograph to be taken. In the meantime, he turned to Zuko, who looked like a lost duck holding all his bags for him. 

“Thanks,” Sokka said sheepishly, gesturing vaguely at the bags.

“No problem.” Zuko smiled. “Nice sunset.”

Sokka nodded, offering a small smile too.

He hadn’t seen Zuko smile much, but every time he did it sent a little twinge through his poor, gay heart. It was something so small but so absolutely amazing to Sokka, and he decided that he quite liked Zuko’s awkward, lopsided grin. It made his face look just that much more boyish and playful—a side that Zuko didn’t quite show a lot.

The camera clicked.

Sokka checked the preview. He had gotten the shot on the first try.

The light trails of the passing cars accentuated the bustling energy of the city, the shadows of the taller buildings in the back perfectly exposed as they stretched up into the sky and loomed over the network of roads. The colors were just right, deep and brilliant and powerful, illuminated by the light of the setting sun.

He would pump his fist into the air and shout a whoop or cheer up to the skies, but this felt like more of a quiet victory. The air had settled into a sense of serenity, but it wouldn’t last long. The city would come alive soon in the night. 

They stood in silence for a while as Sokka opted to take more shots just in case his greedy little heart needed a few more angles when he was editing later. The sky was already getting darker.

“Hey,” Sokka asked, turning to Zuko. He just had a great and completely unfounded idea. “Do you mind modelling for me? It’s for a project thing I’m doing on the side.”

“Modelling? How?” Zuko blurted out. “I’m not photogenic.”

“Nonsense!” Sokka retorted, and it was the truth. “You’re plenty photogenic, now go and sit on the slope and give me a pose.”

Reeling from the compliment—from Sokka of all people—he walked further down the slope and sat down in the grass. It was nice and soft and fairly dry, and he struggled to get into a decent position where his leg wasn’t trapped under his other leg and his hands could look semi-natural. He had no idea how posing worked or what Sokka even wanted him to do, but he was trying.

If he was really being honest with himself, Sokka did not need this particular set of photos. There was no project thing on the side. It was simply a personal endeavor, an artistic one. Maybe even one of the heart. He was a firm believer that one did not need any reason to make art. Although the faster thumping of his heart was telling him otherwise. 

He swiveled his camera towards Zuko, spinning it on the tripod.

“Just look relaxed, Zuko.”

Zuko had never relaxed in a day of his life, but he complied anyway.

The view was majestic on this side of the hill too. Zuko was seated against a backdrop of quickly darkening blue, the city lights dotting the beautiful nightscape in the distance. There was a quiet sense of peace settling onto Zuko’s face as he tried to lean back and just admire the scenery. He was in his own world now, the feeling reminiscent of all the times he had looked down at the city from his rooftop perches. It always made him calmer being high up, and this was no different.

If golden hour was a photographer’s best friend, blue hour was like its calmer, more soothing cousin. Sokka didn’t really get a chance to simply wander around at night while he was busy chasing work deadlines and getting shit done, so this was a moment of solace for his wilder, more artistic side too.

“Perfect,” he whispered, clicking the shutter button. He had no idea if he was talking about the photo or Zuko anymore, but did it really matter? The click seemed softer this time, as if it had adjusted to the quieter mood of the night. There was something so assuring about it, so absolute. They were really here, standing on a hill and looking at the city, breathing in each other’s presences. 

Zuko seemed to be more at ease with the camera now, and Sokka was pretty awestruck. He was making subtle movements to fill the frame, shifting to adjust his pose every so often without any prompting. He was a natural at his. Sokka just wanted to die staring at this beauty. It should be impossible to look this beautiful.  _ Not photogenic, my foot _ , he thought briefly. 

He was definitely keeping this particular photoset forever.

They turned out beautiful, the city in the background and Zuko in the foreground. Sokka could not take his eyes off his LCD screen as he flipped through the new additions to his gallery, admiring the outline of Zuko’s silhouette, the light illuminating one side of his face while his shoulders and neck were shrouded in soft shadows. A small smile played on the corner of his lips, and his eyes were looking off into the distance. He looked wistful. Sokka wondered what thoughts were running through his head, but he didn’t want to interrupt the scene.

Zuko did not question what those photos were for, thank the gods.

After a very fulfilling experience, they trekked back down the side of the hill, Sokka nearly tripping and face-planting into the grass a few times. They walked in comfortable silence all the way to the bus stop, the two of them weary from the amount of walking they had done the whole day. But it was a good kind of weary, the kind that quietened all the thoughts inside Zuko’s head, allowing him to just breathe and focus on the presence beside him. The day had been long, but it was a nice break away from being the Blue Spirit and work and crime.

Sokka on the other hand, was swimming in thoughts. And all of these thoughts were of the same person. The same person who was currently walking next to him. Zuko. Yes, his thoughts were all of Zuko. He knew he was starting to have a very damning thing for Zuko, but damn if he was going to do anything about it. Maybe a little harmless crush would keep his office days light and entertaining. Maybe he didn’t have to act on it, after all. 

_ It’s just a crush. That’s all there is to it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a nice breather chapter before the storm 
> 
> p.s. can you tell I’m a photography nerd
> 
> also this chapter was not supposed to exist, nor was the bus ride, but instead of making it a quick half of another chapter, I decided that this gay panic glory and mutual pining extravaganza needed its own chapter. 
> 
> tumblr - emptyheadspace


	11. leaf water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zuko makes Sokka tea, and Sokka confesses something that he had been sitting for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I say slow burn, I damn well mean slow burn.

For once in his life, everything was going good for Zuko.

He had started to regain traction on his investigation with the nightclub, slowly but surely. There hasn’t been a big breakthrough or miracle discovery or anything of the sort yet, but he kept his hopes up as he started to narrow down the list of times and parts of the port that the drugs could be coming in through. 

Meanwhile, he had been occupying himself with both work and vigilante duties.

He came into the office every day with a to-do list, determined to check off everything he had to do that day before the sun set. He spent his hours staring at trends and statistics, fishing words from the swirling soup that was his brain as he pieced together his articles. He wasn’t just the Blue Spirit, he was a crime reporter as well, and to hell with it if he didn’t quite enjoy his job. He hadn’t forgotten his passion when he first started out in the industry, veering away from the typical business and stocks type jobs that one mght expect the son of a billionaires to possess. He didn’t care much for taking over his father’s company, his sister was the obvious heir to the CEO’s chair anyway.

Plus, this gave him more time on his hands to juggle work with being the Blue Spirit at night. He had become much more familiar with the parts in the edge of the city than when he first took up this vigilante mantle almost half a year ago. It was by right a short period of time, but he had learnt a lot about the city and about people in general in his time behind the mask. The Blue Spirit had become a part of him now, and he could almost say that he was proud of the title now. 

The Blue Spirit. The name itself did hold a ring to it, despite the denial he had first held when he saw the name coined by none other than Sokka himself. Whenever he needed a break from the pools of number and names that awaited him at his desk, he would stop and open a browser tab to Sokka’s blog and read all the latest posts. Sokka kept up a consistent posting schedule, and he didn’t just write about the vigilante, he also started talking more about community issues and crime rates in the city. Even though Sokka wasn’t a crime reporter himself, Zuko frankly thought he did a wonderful job of encapsulating most of the current events here with a rigor and depth that was pretty impressive. Not to mention the accuracy and level of fact-checking that Sokka did in the articles that were about him. Everything checked out, and they were entertaining enough of a commentary for the most part. And of course, being the photojournalist that he is, Sokka had managed to capture a few artistic shots of the crime scenes that the Blue Spirit had foiled, but never photos of the vigilante himself. Zuko was glad that at least one part remained a mystery.

It had proved a successful venture after all, the page was gaining more and more views by the day. Turns out people wanted to know what the Blue Spirit was up to. They were starting to recognize the mask, thanking him instead of fearing him. Zuko had to admit that it was a refreshing change, even though he wasn’t in it for the glory or the heroics of it all. People were no longer looking at him in disgust or fear when he was trying to help. They were starting to follow his deeds, kept on their toes by the news of his exploits. Zuko tried not to think how dangerous having a media presence was when it came to provoking the law. That was a bridge that he would have to cross when he came to it.

But not right now.

Because right now, things were settling into a nice rhythm. One that he didn’t mind following, and even liked. If he just closed his eyes long enough, he could envision his life going back to normal, or at least as normal as it’ll ever be. 

If he daydreamed long enough, he could pretend that he had some special thing going on between him and Sokka. He wondered if all the things that Sokka had started to bring into his life actually meant something. That Sokka actually liked spending time with Zuko. That Sokka was cooking for him because he actually cared about Zuko as a genuine friend. That Sokka sincerely enjoyed any form of conversation with him. 

That Sokka felt the same way.

Usually, Zuko would balk at himself for being so foolish and trying to will something that may never happen into existence with sheer desperation, but he was at a point in life when he was suddenly feeling hopeful. Like it was okay to be hopeful. And he liked that. He really did.

“I don’t pout,” Zuko said, clearly lying through his teeth.

“You’re just in denial,” Sokka threw his hands up in exasperation. “It’s like your secondmost default facial expression.”

“Secondmost???” Zuko blurted out. “There’s a firstmost??”

“Yeah! Your frowning,” Sokka pointed out. “You’re like, always frowning.”

That was not entirely true. Zuko had started smiling more, and Sokka was sure of that. Not like he was keeping count or anything. In Sokka’s defence, it was extremely hard to ignore when the usually grumpy crime reporter lit up the entire vicinity with a small smile.

Zuko frowned, trying to think of all the times he had been frowning.

“SEE! You’re doing it again,” Sokka exclaimed, his hands flying onto his head as he fell slightly backwards, tipping into the sofa cushions while he tried to draw Zuko’s attention to his own expression.

“Hey! Careful,” Zuko caught a cup that wobbled too close to the edge of the table because of Sokka’s flailing.

“Either way, you always look like you’re about to kill an annoying coworker or something,” Sokka continued.

“By annoying coworker, do you mean yourself?” Zuko joked.

“Hey!” Sokka shot back up to a sitting position. “Rude.”

Zuko snorted. He took a long drawn-out sip from his cup.

“Hey, you can actually make a good cup of tea,” Sokka remarked.

It was in fact, a good cup of tea. He was not qualified to be the judge, but it was certainly appealing to his tastes. There was a light floral taste dancing across his tongue, pleasing his tastebuds every which way. The tea was just the right temperature, his hands encased with a comforting heat as he brought the cup to his mouth. Sokka didn’t really consider himself a tea person, but he was willing to make an exception for Zuko. 

“Thanks,” Zuko said, a small smile playing on his lips. “My uncle taught me.”

Sokka swallowed too big a mouthful of tea and sputtered. 

“You okay?” Zuko looked concerned.

“ _Ye p_ .” Sokka waved him off. _Zuko’s smiling. Chill out, Sokka_. 

Zuko gave him a look.

“I always thought tea was just hot leaf juice,” Zuko said as he took Sokka’s cup, a little heat crawling up the back of his neck as their fingers brushed slightly. “But my uncle was having none of that.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” Sokka said, and he meant that. He didn’t have the best impression of Zuko’s family in general, but from what he heard from their conversations, Zuko’s uncle sounded like a genuinely nice person. 

“He owns a tea shop,” Zuko said fondly. “He’s the best.”

“Cool,” Sokka said. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself.

“Yeah, he took me in when I got kicked out,” Zuko said. 

His eyes shot open. He had not meant to say that. 

“Kicked out?” Sokka said, spine snapping up. “What do you mean?”

“My father kicked me out of the house,” Zuko continued. He didn’t really like talking about it, but he felt like it was okay to let Sokka know. 

He still remembered the day his father had kicked him out like it was yesterday. The memory was like a gaping wound smacked onto the back of his mind, reminding him of his past every time he grazed past it. He had spent years mending the wound over with happier memories, with successes and personal achievements. It would never close, but he could definitely do something better with his life than harp on bad memories.

“Yikes,” Sokka replied. He smacked himself mentally. That was not the response you were supposed to give when your friend suddenly confides their tragic backstory in you. 

“It’s okay though,” Zuko said quietly, looking away from Sokka. 

He didn’t say why he was kicked out. He didn’t talk about his part in it. He didn’t talk about how he had threatened to expose his own father, how he could have tore an entire empire down just by asking questions. He didn’t talk about how disappointed his father had looked, even though Zuko now knew that his father was wrong. He didn’t talk about the scar, and how it came about. He didn’t talk about the last straw, the disgust his own family showed him when they found out he was gay. 

He had vowed to put that in the past, to build himself back up, to be his own person. Not to be ashamed of who he was. And by the name of all things holy and unholy, he was going to keep his promise to himself. He was not alone now. 

There was a moment of silence, before Sokka decided that he had had enough.

“Look, I know who you are okay!” Sokka finally blurted out. He couldn’t keep it in anymore. He needed to tell Zuko the whole truth. He needed to say what he had been refraining from saying this whole time. 

“...What?” Zuko froze, the color draining quickly from his face. Logically, he knew that there was no way Sokka could’ve found out, but that didn’t stop the hairs on his neck from standing straight up. There was no way he knew. No way. _Sokka could not know that he was the Blue Spirit_. He could already feel his world slowly falling apart around him.

“Okay, well. Who you _were_ , or who I...thought you were,” Sokka continued.

“What? Who?” The wave of dread inside Zuko had dissipated, leaving confusion in its wake instead. He was trying to swallow the shock that flashed quickly across his face with his tea, hoping to every deity that existed in the world that Sokka did not see it.

“I thought you were just some spoiled trust fund kid,” Sokka admitted sheepishly. 

Well, that was definitely not what Zuko was expecting. 

Relief flooded him inside, his heart thumping at the speed of light. _Thank god it wasn’t what he thought it was_.

“There. I said it. You can hate me now,” Sokka sighed, pressing as far as he could into his own sofa cushions. So he said it. 

“Why would I hate you?” Zuko asked, genuinely confused. “It’s true.”

“It is?”

“Well, it was.” Zuko took a sip of tea. “My family is rich, but I didn’t really feel like I belonged in it. Never did. So now I’m my own person and I don’t talk to them anymore. Well, except my uncle.”

“Ah.” Sokka nodded. “I just, it was wrong of me to assume.”

He had been sitting on it for way too long, and the guilt was killing him slowly on the inside. He felt like he was about to burst every time he had a conversation with Zuko and was reminded of his own foolish tendency to jump to conclusions. Zuko was a nice person, he didn’t deserve this. He kind of expected Zuko to have a more vigorous reaction, maybe a more baffled one, but his friend actually sounded... _resigned_.

Sokka took a long sip of tea, his undignified slurping the only sound in the house for a moment.

It wasn’t until a few moments later that something clicked inside Zuko’s head.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” Zuko slowly turned to Sokka with an increasingly horrified yet understanding look. “Is that why you insulted me all the time back when we first met?”

Suddenly it all made sense now. It was like a mystery of the universe had been solved. It was like he had figured out the meaning of human existence. It was like he was a philosopher on the brink of a discovery that would change everything. He couldn’t believe that it had taken him this long.

“Yes,” Sokka sighed, a slight hint of a grin spreading across his face. “To be fair, you are very fun to insult.”

“I can’t believe you!” Zuko buried his face in his hands. “I thought you just hated me for no reason!”

“Well-” Sokka rubbed his head sheepishly. “We just got off on the wrong foot.”

Zuko stared straight at Sokka, folding his arms.

“Are you mad?” Sokka asked tentatively.

“I just can’t believe you let _me_ believe that you hated me all this time,” Zuko huffed, his lips turning up in a pout. He was kind of relieved that Sokka wasn’t harboring some kind of secret hate and it all just turned out to be some wayward misunderstanding. It explained so many things now that his head was spinning from all this sudden clarity. 

“SEE! You’re pouting.” Sokka jumped up, pointing. He was feeling his own kind of relief that Zuko wasn’t angry at him. Sokka didn’t know what he would do if he was.

“I am?” Zuko whirled around, trying to find a reflective surface. 

Sokka couldn’t hold back a laugh as he saw Zuko’s bewildered face.

He was glad he had said it. Now they could finally kick things off without his own gravely mistaken first impression of Zuko weighing over him like a dark cloud. He felt lighter already, like something in the air had changed. Their conversations were definitely going to be different after this.

“Look, I’m sorry for making assumptions about you when I didn’t even know you,” Sokka resumed the conversation from where he left off, now that the silence was broken. “But it doesn’t change the way I...my views about you.”

 _Oh god,_ he had almost said “feel about you”. If he had caught himself even a second later, this conversation was going to turn out _very_ differently than he had intended. And he was _not_ ready to go down that hole.

“Thanks, Sokka.” Zuko offered a small smile. “I mean it.”

Ah, there goes Sokka’s heart again.

“Do you want more tea?” 

“Don’t mind if I do.”

As the two of them sat there on the little balcony, the evening breeze drifting in with the smells of the city and the promise of the setting sun on its back, Zuko felt the renewed sense of hope once again. As he looked at Sokka, humming and sipping his tea appreciatively, giving the occasional compliment and overly specific critique about the tea and its “leafy flavors”, he felt warm and fuzzy inside. 

He had been smiling more and more since he started talking like this with Sokka. And now that he knew that Sokka didn’t secretly harbor a hatred or a grudge towards him that he was unaware of, the world seemed to turn again. Everything started moving again. The wheels were set in motion.

He had come too far to not feel like he had been doing anything with his life. He was finally where he needed to be. Right here, with Sokka, on Sokka’s balcony, drinking tea and trying to match his wit. It was a strange sensation, and nothing like the sudden zing that Zuko had been told to expect by fictional works and stuff in the movies. It was more of a gradual process, a cautious step, a progressing of smiles and light touches. 

That was the slow process of how Zuko had come to realize that he might in fact, harbor more than just a crush for Sokka.

He just might be in love.

And he didn’t know what to think just yet.

But even then, the hope settling in his chest told him not to panic, or flail, or do anything stupid just yet. Maybe something good would come out of it if he just gave his own feelings a chance. Maybe one day in the future he would be able to express his feelings without ruining everything. Maybe he would figure things out with Sokka if he gave it some time.

Maybe everything would work out just fine.

_Well, he always had to speak too soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is a quick update after the last chapter because this was supposed to be the chapter I had intended to write but decided that a breather scene beforehand might be wise
> 
> "Zuko stared straight at Sokka" ha h a straig h t  
> I am aware that the chapter summary made it seem like Sokka was gonna finally grow a brain cell of his own and confess, but unfortunately I, the author, do not authorize that. 
> 
> anyway here's the customary "I update every week so stay tuned" message. my tumblr is emptyheadspace, feel free to just hit me up, request shit, ask stuff about works, anything really.


	12. dead of night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sokka comes home to a nerve-wracking scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we've reached the start of the angst. Buckle in, for it is going to be a hell of a ride and this is only the welcome ceremony.

Zuko had spent twelve years of his life trying to get away from his past. He had spent so long wrestling with himself and his family, spent so much time tearing himself up over his mistakes and to finally learn that he wasn’t the one at fault. He wasn’t worthless, nor did he deserve nothing. He was his own person, and it had taken him twelve long years for him to finally come to terms with the fact that his father was wrong. 

He had spent years muddling his way through jobs, trying to hide the very obvious scar that showed the world evidence that even the most well-off families weren’t necessarily happy. They could be messed up, just like his was. They could be cruel, and manipulative. They could be uncaring. His own father did not care about him after all, nor did his sister if he was to be honest here. They only knew money, and would stop at nothing to attain a wealth and power that would never satisfy them. 

But he was not like them. He didn’t want to hurt people, and he certainly did not want to rely on money that was exploited out of people. But what could he do when he was just a scared kid trying to live life like there wasn’t something absolutely fucked up going on in his own family? He was scared, and that was why he never spoke up, always fighting with himself trying to ignore the truth. 

So he kept running. Running from questions, running from home, running from everyone he had thought he knew. But no matter how much he ran, even when he thought he’d gotten far, far away from his father, that man still found a way to ruin Zuko’s life, as well the lives of others, through the scar. Zuko could still feel the searing burn of the scalding water, thrown at him like a flash of lightning shooting across the room. He could still feel the anger and the hatred that blazed through his father’s eyes, like he was wondering what he had done to deserve such a wretched son. He couldn’t forget such pain even if he tried.

Every time he missed something or bumped into things, no matter how small it was of an accident, he was always reminded of it. Every time someone stared too long his way, he knew they were staring at it. Every time he stumbled and tripped over something he didn’t even sense was in his way, he could feel it. Even after years of long training and working around this disability of his, it would always still be there. It had become a part of him, no matter whether he liked it or not.

Zuko had always tried to hide it. Tried to move his hair to cover his eye, tried weird eye masks or eye patches that always ended up drawing more attention. Eventually he just gave in and let the questions and stares flood into his life. It certainly put a grinding halt to most things that other people would be able to do normally without someone staring at them like they were some sort of alien creature, but he had gotten used to it.

It became like some sort of reminder that he was trying to be better. Some reminder of the day that he became his own person, the day that he lost his identity and embarked on a journey to find it again. 

And then he had found the mask. When he wore it, he was The Blue Spirit. He wasn’t hiding behind the mask, he was becoming the mask. It was his own form of protection that emboldened him, not a cowardly facade as much as a warrior’s costume. Nobody could see the scar, the vulnerability behind his being when he wore the mask. All they saw now was the Blue Spirit, a supposed beacon of hope and heroism according to the people these days. He had found something that he could be proud of, a cause that he could keep chasing no wonder what anyone else said. He was _saving_ people, helping them, a far cry from what everyone said he would become.

So why did he feel like he was only hurting more people than he saved?

He had never felt this broken in a long time as he found himself crawling across the dark living room floor, uttering a weak cry for help. He could only feel one thing right now: agony. His mind was screaming every time the pain drove deep into his back, stinging every time he tried to drag himself forward. It was a miracle he had even made it here.

The physical hurt wasn’t even the biggest pain that wracked through his body. His mind was flooded with a despair that he couldn’t remember ever feeling. He was distraught, the memory of what had happened earlier flashing in jagged images through his head, combining with the pain as he struggled to breathe.

 _He had failed_.

He wanted to cry until his eyes felt like dropping out, wanted to shout until his voice was hoarse and his throat torn, wanted to lapse into a sleep where he could forget everything that ever happened. 

But he couldn’t. He had to stay awake until Sokka came home. 

When the front door creaked open slowly after what felt like an eternity of waiting, he was barely conscious enough to hear the keys jangling and the shoes being tucked back into the shoe cabinet. His eyes were already closing, and he was fighting with all his might not to lose consciousness lest he never wake up again.

Sokka screamed when he turned on the lights.

“ _What happened to you?!_ ” He continued to shriek as he dashed forth, letting the bags full of groceries drop to the floor with sickening thud.

Zuko tried to open his mouth, tried to keep his eyes open, tried to explain, but no words were coming out. His head was heavy and his mind was spiralling into a darkness that was quickly overtaking his entire body, his limbs giving out from pain and exhaustion. He was barely aware of the blood that he was tracking over the tiles, or the fact that he had practically collapsed in the middle of Sokka’s living room.

“Please don’t die on me, _please_ don’t die on me,” Sokka whispered frantically, rushing to grab the first aid supplies. He prayed to every known god in the universe that it wasn’t too late.

The mask did little to shield Zuko’s oversensitive eyes from the glaring lights. 

“Please stay awake,” Sokka tried to hoist the vigilante’s body up onto the sofa, wincing himself every time the vigilante groaned when he touched somewhere too near an injury. “If you sleep you might never wake up again.”

He did not want to think about that possibility.

“I’m taking off your mask,” Sokka said. He could feel the vigilante stiffen up under him. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking. It’s so you can actually breathe.”

Zuko was too worn out to protest. He couldn’t explain himself, he couldn’t even think. He let Sokka slowly ease the mask off his face as he buried his face into the soft pile of cushions Sokka kept on his sofa. 

A jagged crack ran over the corner of the mask, an ugly crack of black and red in the deep blue right next to the left eye. Someone must have struck the vigilante in a fight. Sokka shuddered as he thought about it, and set the mask down gingerly on the floor next to the sofa.

“Don’t try to talk, I’m going to examine your wounds,” Sokka said, trying to be as gentle as he possibly could. His own heart was thumping with a panic that he hadn’t felt since the last time the vigilante was here, but his hands were steadier now.

The slashes across his back were dripping with an angry red, smeared across pale skin as Sokka tried to peel the shirt off the vigilante’s back. The vigilante was too exhausted to react to the pain. Sokka needed to work fast. The cut was deeper than the last time, and he knew the vigilante needed stitches.

Calling an ambulance was the right thing to do. The vigilante needed immediate medical help, _professional_ medical help, not help from some guy who did a medical internship in the ER for barely over a year before realizing his passion lay in journalism and photography. He needed to decide now, a whole life was resting on his hands. So why was he so torn when the obvious right decision was right there?

“No hospital….” The vigilante’s voice had reduced to a barely-there croak.

“I know that, but you’re bleeding really badly and I don’t know if I can help you!”

He wanted to scream and tear his hair out. 

“It’s not that bad…”

“It’ll get infected and you’ll die.”

Zuko almost chuckled slightly at Sokka’s exasperated tone through his delirium. 

“You need stitches.”

“Oh.”

“I, I’ve done it before, but I don’t know if I can do it again,” Sokka admitted. “It was a long time ago and it was in an actual hospital and there were actual doctors and-”

He felt a hand on his arm and he froze.

“Trust….I trust...” The vigilante managed to speak between shallow breaths, his voice barely even there.

Zuko wanted to say “I trust you”, he really wanted to say it. To let Sokka know it was okay. That he trusted Sokka with his life, even if it meant losing it. That was why he came to Sokka’s house, someone who he knew would help because he had done it before. It had been close to the scene, close to where the accident had happened, and he felt like ten years of his lifespan had been sheared off trying to drag himself into the darkened apartment.

He sounded so small and weak that Sokka’s heart fell, and he knew he needed to do something, not just stand there and freak out. He could do this. He could do this again and everything will be fine and nobody will die. 

Sokka got right to work.

The only time he had ever stitched up a wound was with an actual medical professional supervising by his side. He literally did not know if he could do this. But he had to. He was too far in. He stilled his trembling fingers, and quickly swabbed disinfectant over the ugly gash.

The vigilante winced under him, and Sokka took it as a good sign that he was awake. But then he frowned when he remembered that he would have to actually be awake through the process. If the blood loss wasn’t going to kill him, Sokka’s subpar medical skills would.

“Hang on…” Sokka tried to reassure him.

After making sure there was no debris or dirt in the wound, Sokka steeled himself and inserted the sterilized sewing needle. Everything was banking on his ability to not freak out and pass out himself. He slid the needle through skin.

Surprisingly, no one died. He continued with the methodical process, his gaze focused intensely on the wound. The vigilante was surprisingly still, there was no screaming or writhing in agony going on, so either he was too exhausted to even feel the pain or Sokka was actually doing it right. He sure hoped it was the latter. He pulled the needle through the very edges of the cut, avoiding the more sensitive skin around the injury, slowly but steadily. He did _not_ want to rush the process, lest he screw up and cause the vigilante unnecessary pain.

In the end, it took a total of nine stitches to close up the wound.

Sokka let out a breath he didn’t know he had holding the whole time. 

Was offering a potential criminal in the eyes of the law in his own living room medical help at 10pm illegal? Sokka did not particularly care at this point. He felt like the process had already eaten up ten years of his lifespan, and he would wake up in the morning to find white hairs on his head at this rate. This was bad for his heart and his health.

“You shouldn’t move from this sofa,” Sokka stated. “It could hurt you more.”

Zuko’s eyes shot open at his words. 

“You can stay here,” Sokka continued. “You’re not going anywhere, not with your back like that.”

Zuko was too hazy to think, but he could’ve just sworn that Sokka just asked him to stay over. 

The vigilante seemed to be considering his words like a startled animal sizing up a potential threat. After what seemed like the longest moment, he finally sunk deeper into the sofa, as if resigned to his fate.

“Good,” Sokka breathed. “Do you need ibuprofen?”

The vigilante remained silent, and Sokka took it as a yes.

“Here.” Sokka set the ibuprofen down on the sofa armrest. “You can take it while I go wash up for bed.”

The vigilante made a sound that sounded like a grunt.

“Don’t go dying on me or something while I’m gone,” Sokka half-joked. 

He left the room, preparing to tuck away his poorly bruised groceries.

He was in dire need of a shower.

When Sokka returned, the vigilante had gone still on the sofa. For a moment he freaked, wondering if miraculously the man had died in the ten minutes that he was in the shower, but after seeing the rise and fall of breathing in the vigilante’s form he sighed in relief. It honestly surprised him how easily the vigilante had fallen asleep in a complete stranger’s house, but he supposed to must the pain getting to him.

The vigilante was turned away from him, face buried deep against the back of the sofa and about five pillows at once. Sokka had long accepted that he wasn’t going to cross any lines by trying to figure out the identity of the vigilante, not like this anyway. Not while he was vulnerable. He felt like it was provoking some form of trust with their weird little bond. He didn’t even know the vigilante, and to the vigilante he was probably just some stalker-level photojournalist who was adamant on butting into his life, but he couldn’t help but feel that they shared some sort of unspoken trust. Well, the vigilante had just let him stitch his wound up after all.

Plus he hadn’t murdered Sokka or anything like that yet. All this time, Zuko had been worried about Sokka getting mysteriously murdered in the middle of a shady alley (his words, not Sokka’s) during his late-night cavorts following the Blue Spirit, but so far the vigilante had never confronted him in a bad way. Well, except the first time he had tackled Sokka onto the floor, but he was willing to close one eye about that. He could already hear Zuko’s voice droning through his head about not letting strangers into his apartment or something. Sokka snorted at Zuko’s word of caution, but he couldn’t deny that it was heartening to think about the fact that Zuko was worried about him.

Sokka was starting to think that maybe he was just a little too obsessed with Zuko.

The longer he stared at the sleeping form, the longer he started to see Zuko in place of the vigilante. It was a far reach, at most the vigilante had the same dark hair as his coworker, and they were maybe about the same height. Sokka did not want to venture too far into thinking if Zuko had the same build as the vigilante, he was not going to do that to himself. Just the thought about Zuko possibly sharing the same abs and muscle definition as the vigilante made him want to go take another shower, immediately. 

But as his eyes fell over the stitches on his back, he pulled himself out of that fantasy. He did not want to think about how it could be Zuko lying on his sofa and suffering in pain, too exhausted to even stay awake. He did not want to think about Zuko facing those guys in that alley back then alone. He did not want to think about Zuko, Zuko who ate instant noodles everyday and who slept at probably in the dead of night every single day, _that_ Zuko, out there somewhere in the cold night fighting off bad guys. It opened up a whole world of horrid possibilities that Sokka didn’t even want to risk thinking about.

Besides, what were the chances of Zuko being the Blue Spirit? There must be at least tens of thousands of other people in the city who looked like the vigilante. It was just black hair. That’s what drew his mind to Zuko. There was no way such a coincidence could ever happen, not even in fiction. 

Zuko was not the Blue Spirit.

Sokka simply had an overactive imagination and a quickly snowballing crush.

He sighed.

He was about to turn and go when the vigilante twitched.

“No…”

For a moment, Sokka thought the vigilante had awoken, but he wasn’t turning around. He was mumbling something soft and frantic, and shifting on his side, but Sokka couldn’t make out what he was saying. 

He sounded distressed.

Sokka ventured closer, a little warily, as if one wrong move might wake the vigilante.

The vigilante’s back was slick with sweat, and the small voice was sounding increasingly distressed. He was starting to shift more, in danger of flipping over and revealing his face to Sokka any second. 

_The vigilante was having a nightmare_.

Sokka wanted to rush over and roll him over and wake him up from whatever terrible dream he was having, secret identity be damned. He was really thinking about it. But all he did was stand beside the sofa, as if trying to telepathically will the vigilante’s nightmare into going away or something. Clearly it was not working.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Sokka tried to say, his own voice coming out soft and unsure.

The vigilante didn’t respond. He must still be asleep.

“I got you,” Sokka said. He had no idea what to say, but it didn’t really matter. 

He reached out a hand tentatively, resting it on the vigilante’s shoulder. He had no idea why he just did that. As if having the vigilante in his house wasn’t dangerous enough, now he was going ahead and touching him. He could already hear Zuko’s voice chiding him from inside his head now, yelling at him to think about the consequences.

Well, Sokka was thinking about the consequences. And he decided that the vigilante deserved at least one night of peaceful rest. He was not sure how he was supposed to help him attain that, but he hoped that at least his presence would be grounding enough. Even if they didn’t know each other. It was strange, the way his mind worked.

The weight of his hand on the vigilante’s shoulder seemed to soothe some of the distress. He was starting to settle down, his shoulders no longer so tense. He was no longer babbling whatever he was trying to say, and the living room had grown silent again. All that was left was the slightly ragged breathing, that had at least slowed a little. 

The vigilante’s skin under his hand felt warm and reassuring. Sokka felt better knowing that at least the vigilante wasn’t off dying in a ditch somewhere like he could be. He briefly shivered, wondering what would have happened if he had decided to take the detour to the local diner for a late-night snack after he got his groceries. Would the vigilante have bled out to death in his living room by then? He would not like to think about that.

With the quiet peace of nightfall and the breathing of the vigilante on the sofa next to him, Sokka eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme just pull a Shoto Todoroki here yeah.
> 
> Also originally this chapter was supposed to include the morning after, but then it got really long and the morning after scene is also going to be really long so I was like okay let's split this into two chapters. So here we go. I know I haven't talked about the scar a lot because I didn't really think I was going to working it in so much but I shall rectify that mistake and definitely keep it on the forefront of my mind when writing Zuko from now on.  
> Also do not you worry dear readers, there are definitely more identity shenanigans™ to come, but for now you have to settle for reading it amongst the angst. I have made a rough skeleton and I'm estimating a total of twenty one chapters currently, but do remember that number is flexible and may grow at any time. Less likely to shrink because I have a lot to write.
> 
> my tumblr is emptyheadspace by the way, so if you wanna drop an ask or request something go check it out, it's quite bare now though. I mainly repost my ao3 works but I also write headcanons and post occasional art so yeah cool.


	13. the one who got away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko wakes up in Sokka's house once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe zuko got so ripped from how often he jumps to conclusions

Zuko awoke with a start.

_Where was he? Why was everything so bright? Why was he lying on a sofa? Why was his shirt off? Why was there a hand on his-_

There was a hand. On his shoulder.

He suppressed the squeak in his throat. It was taking all his willpower not to panic and thrash about when he realized just who the hand belonged to. The hand on his shoulder was very definitely Sokka’s hand. He was very definitely lying on Sokka’s sofa, in Sokka’s house. And the person propped against the sofa right next to him was very definitely Sokka.

For a very quick brief fleeting nanosecond of a moment, Zuko wondered if anything had happened between them. 

That thought was quickly banished when he tried to get up.

He winced. A bolt of pain shot down his spine, as if he had just awakened a deep and forgotten suffering simply by trying to hoist himself up on his elbows. 

The events of last night came rushing back to punch him in the gut.

His head was still clouded over with a haze of pain and regret. The calm feel of the quiet sun creeping in through the balcony was quickly replaced by a raging storm of dread inside. Memories started flashing through his head, quickly forcing him out of his post-sleep stupor, an aching throb rushing back to the base of his neck.

_He had failed._

He had failed at his one goal.

The Blue Spirit had failed to save someone.

He tried to force the thoughts out of his head, at least just until he was conscious enough to get up and figure out how bad his injuries were. But it wasn’t working. It was like a logjam of guilt at the front, back, and centre of his mind. And it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Slowly he pushed Sokka’s hand off, a heat creeping into his chest at the slight contact.

How could Sokka have slept through the night like that? The way his legs were curled in and how his head lolled against his arm could not have been comfortable. But Sokka was clearly asleep, his face having settled into a blank picture of peace without its usual snarky grin or sarcastic expression to go with his jabs. Sokka was a quiet sleeper, his chest rising slowly with each breath as he slept.

Zuko couldn’t quite help but stare.

Sokka had saved his life. Again. 

_When he wakes up he’s probably gonna insult me or something or-_

Zuko froze, the sudden realization zinging down his spine.

 _Oh shit! He wasn’t here as Zuko, he was here as the Blue Spirit_.

Whirling around in a mad panic, he saw the familiar blue shape lying on the floor. There was a very noticeable jagged crack running straight across the left corner, marring the blue with a violent reminder of last nights event. He grabbed it and fumbled with the straps, trying to stuff it back on his face. 

It was the sudden jerk of his arm brushing over Sokka’s head that woke him. 

Sokka looked up blearily and right into the impassive face of the Blue Spirit’s mask.

He blinked.

The vigilante continued to stare back.

He blinked again, looking for a sign that he wasn’t still dreaming.

“You’re still here,” he said, his tone unexpectedly soft.

The vigilante continued to stare.

“And you’re,” Sokka did not even bother to hide his slowly lowering gaze. “ _Shirtless_.”

It was like an explosion had went off inside Zuko’s head. Every single coherent thought starting to arise inside his brain immediately fucked off into oblivion. The floodgates of every single gay impulse he had ever felt in his life and stuffed deep down into his soul where they could never see the light of day again, were opening. All hell had broken loose. He certainly felt like he was in hell, the flames burning all the way up to the top of his head and prickling down his bare back. Zuko would never speak again. _Rest in peace, heart._

Sokka did not in any way look repulsed, or even embarrassed. His eyes were very obviously on the vigilante, drinking in every single chiselled line and inch of pale muscle that was overriding every single thought he once had to be courteous and hospitable. _Fuck hiding his own thirst, right?_ All he could think about was abs, abs, shoulders, arms, abs, arms, neck, and did he mention abs? There was no doubt about it. The man was _built_. 

“Do you...have a shirt I can borrow?” Zuko almost squeaked out, trying as hard as he could to offset his voice to a gruff and scratchy one. 

Sokka blinked, still very much staring.

Zuko was going to _die_ in the next 0.567 seconds.

“Uhhhh yeah! Yeah! Totally. You can take as many shirts as you want, uh,” Sokka managed to say, sounding too much like he just ran a marathon. “I’ll go, get the shirt, yes.”

When he finally peeled his eyes off the vigilante’s abs ( _goddamn_ , he cursed under his breath), he felt like he needed to find the nearest cliff and throw himself into the ocean. He could not believe he just did that. _Get a hold of yourself man. What the fuck._ _Betrayed by his own thirst, what a way to go_ , he thought, trying to play it off as a completely normal thing, as if he hadn’t just _ogled_ the vigilante in his own living room. _Good going, Sokka, so smooth_. He might just lock himself in his room and never come out again. Even so, he was definitely going to mentally immortalize the image of the shirtless vigilante into the deepest crevasses of his mind for later. 

When Sokka emerged from his room a few moments later, Zuko was still trying to keep it together. What a way to start the morning. 

“Here,” Sokka said, trying to avoid any form of eye contact or even remotely looking anywhere near the vigilante’s very exposed midsection. “Sorry if it’s a bit too tight.”

The vigilante grunted as he pulled the unassuming grey shirt over his head. It was a weird contrast to the mask, almost too casual and normal for the Blue Spirit himself. Even so, anyone could tell that the shirt was too small for the vigilante, tight collar only serving to emphasize his collarbones. The same collarbones that Sokka was definitely not admiring. 

_You’re a fucking weirdo, Sokka, you don’t even know this guy_ , Sokka tried to reason with himself. It wasn’t working.

“You didn’t look.”

“Huh?” Sokka snapped out of his haze.

“You didn’t look under the mask.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Sokka said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But how did you know?”

“You would’ve reacted,” the vigilante stated.

“What, like post it on my blog?” Sokka tsked. “I’m not that callous, I would never do that without asking for consent.”

Not what Zuko meant, but at least it was comforting to know that.

“I’m going to go,” the vigilante said suddenly, hoarse and low.

“No!” Sokka burst out. “Uh, I mean, you’re still hurt.”

“I’m perfectly fine walking outside by myself.”

“But it’s the morning,” Sokka tried. “What are you going to do? Take the subway as the Blue Spirit? Glare at errant passengers from under the mask?”

As hilarious of a mental image as that was, Sokka genuinely did think it was a bad idea for the vigilante to leave in the light of day. He was injured, and vulnerable. Everyone would be staring. Sokka was desperately trying to convince himself that he was looking out for the vigilante. He was not selfish for wanting the vigilante to take care. He wasn’t doing this for himself, it was purely a matter of the vigilante’s safety. Could anyone blame him for worrying so much about someone he didn’t even know? _Yeah, probably._

The vigilante seemed to consider his words, a little tilt of his head the only indication.

“I’m making breakfast,” Sokka adopted his firm tone again. “And you’re eating.”

There was the insistent Sokka that Zuko knew.

He sat awkwardly, torn between getting off the sofa and making a break for the door, and staying for a little while more. Maybe if he ran fast enough, Sokka wouldn’t be able to catch him. He didn’t even think Sokka would even consider letting him stay a little while more, but he would be lying if he said the idea wasn’t tempting. When he got back to work, he was going to give Sokka ten thousand more lectures about not letting strangers stay inside his house like the idiot that he was. _Stupid Sokka. Stupid caring Sokka. Stupid worried Sokka_.

He got up and followed Sokka into the kitchen like a lost duckling, wondering what the fuck was happening, his body moving with a mind of its own before his logical brain could tell him to get out of there. When did his life become this complicated? He plopped down into a chair, immediately regretting it when his back rubbed against the hard wooden backrest. At least he wasn’t bleeding anymore, but hell if it didn’t hurt like a bitch. _Just another scar to the mix_ , he thought grimly, more resigned than solemn. 

With the sound of mugs clinking and pans being dug up in the background, Zuko’s thoughts lapsed back into the hurricane of emotions. Faces and sounds started rushing to the front of his mind.

 _An alleyway_. Like every other alleyway.

 _A knife. A brute_. Should’ve been no problem for the Blue Spirit.

 _Spinning_. Going through the motions of a fight.

 _A scream_. There was a kid against the wall.

 _Wide eyes._ He could see his own fear reflected in those eyes.

 _Screaming_. But he couldn’t hear it anymore.

 _Pain_. He had looked away.

_He had looked away and that had cost him gravely._

Zuko’s hand shot up to his left eye, the crack feeling rough and out of place under his fingers. He didn’t see the man rushing at him from the left. He couldn’t. He could only feel the pain digging into his back and pressing him to the ground as he watched every single blow land. And he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t move, couldn’t ask for help, couldn’t stop the violence, couldn’t even save himself.

He almost felt like he deserved the pain.

Even after ten years of trying to escape his past, his father still found a way to haunt him. To haunt others. As if the monster hadn’t already ruined the lifes of countless others. How many others had to suffer at the hands of his own father before he could do something about it?

All Zuko wanted was to prove that he was not like his father.

He wanted to help people.

Was that too much to ask?

_Was he really not enough?_

“Hey.”

Sokka’s voice reeled Zuko’s mind back to the present. 

He stared at Sokka, as if looking into a face he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Are you okay?” Sokka leaned in, trying to figure out what was wrong.

He hadn’t mentioned the bad dream. He hadn’t mentioned waking up in the middle of the night to the vigilante shivering next to him. He hadn’t asked what had happened and how the vigilante had gotten the wound. He didn’t feel like it was his place to ask, and he didn’t want to come across as overbearing lest he scare off the vigilante forever.

Sokka decided he would wait. If the vigilante wanted to tell him, he would. And if he didn’t want to say anything, then so be it.

The vigilante gave a curt nod.

“I made you coffee,” Sokka said. “Thought it’d help.”

Zuko sighed to himself. Of course the coffee was black. What else was he expecting?

“And I made toast.”

The sheer mundane feel of Sokka’s words pulled Zuko out of his fuzz. Even if it was just for the splittest moment, he felt his blood start to flow again, the gears in his head returning to a normal pace instead of the ugly wrench of emotions, and he actually felt... _hungry_. His stomach was grumbling, and he felt like he hadn’t had something to eat in decades. He was only beginning to feel how weak his body had become, battered and bruised from the fight. If he didn’t eat now, he just might collapse on the tiles if he tried to get up.

“You can’t tell me you’re not eating,” Sokka huffed. “You need to eat.”

The vigilante continued to stare back.

It took Sokka a long moment to realize what was wrong.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry,” he amended, cursing himself out inside for not realizing sooner. “I’ll, go into the other room and you can take off your mask and eat.”

He left the room, leaving Zuko in silence again.

The process was almost mechanical now.

He unfastened the mask.

He picked up the fork.

He cut a corner off the bread.

He stuck it in his mouth.

Chew. Swallow.

Repeat.

The toast was probably delicious, but Zuko had no mind to pay attention to it. He just had the finish the food, say his thanks, and leave. He had clearly overstayed his welcome. He didn’t need to bother anyone else, least of all Sokka. He didn’t deserve that. 

It took him all of five minutes to devour everything.

“Sheesh, I knew you were hungry,” Sokka announced, cautiously stepping back into the room, dramatically closing his eyes and looking away until the vigilante put his mask back on. “Do you want more?”

The vigilante shook his head a little too hastily.

“Oh, you don’t like coffee?”

“Too bitter,” the vigilante rasped out. The disapproval was obvious even from behind the mask.

“Ha, you remind me of a friend that I like,” Sokka said, bemused.

 _A friend? That he liked?_

Sokka almost slapped a hand over his own mouth. Why had he said that? There was absolutely no earthly reason for him to start exposing his own stupid crush to somebody he didn’t even know. Literally nobody did that. Nobody. 

The vigilante remained silent, as if confused about what Sokka had just said.

“Yeah, they hate the stuff too,” Sokka continued on, deciding that he might as well clear things up since he started this mess. Besides, the vigilante didn’t know who the hell he was talking about anyway, so it should be fine right? “It’s dumb but I think it’s cute.”

_Cute?_

Zuko’s heart just fell all the way into hell.

 _Fuck. Sokka likes someone else_ . Maybe it wasn’t even a _like_ like kind of like, but Zuko wasn’t that dumb. Or maybe he was. He couldn’t believe himself. How could he be so blind as to think that Sokka didn’t have any other friends? Of course he had friends. What kind of guy like Sokka didn’t have friends? Clearly he was just trying to build false hope, to convince himself into thinking that he had a chance.

Everything was just crashing down around him, the walls caving in. The emotions he tried to suppress for the sake of remaining calm and respectful were reemerging, pushing past his logical barriers and flooding up into his throat, threatening to spill out. He wanted so desperately to tell Sokka everything, to finally lift the weight that had been keeping his heart down for so long. He wanted to tear off the mask and reveal his face. He wanted to pretend that for a moment, Sokka was talking about him.

 _No_. He couldn’t do that to Sokka.

He was just a hopeless fool, a danger to everyone else.

_He was a danger to Sokka._

Zuko just wanted to curl up into a ball and lie on the floor until the world went away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait what?” Sokka turned around. 

He barely had time to react before the vigilante was already rushing out the door without another word, leaving Sokka standing in the sudden emptiness of his own house.

 _Why did he feel like he had just said something wrong_?

The quiet beep of the life support machine punctuated the still, sterile air. Nurses and doctors and family rushed past, in and out of the room, a never-ending stream of constant vigil and worry. There was an awfully heavy sense of dread in the air, spreading through the ward and permeating the corridor outside. Everybody in the ward could feel it, like something horrible was about to happen at any moment. It was a feeling that didn’t bode well. 

Everybody had heard the whispers.

They didn’t know if the kid would make it.

And even if he did, it would take a miracle for the boy to make a full recovery.

The boy lay on the bed, body broken and battered, still and unmoving. 

His family came in first, a harried single mother with three other kids who wouldn’t stop bouncing around their brother’s bed, asking when he was going to wake up and play. It was hard to watch, the mother trying not to remain strong in front of her children, holding back tears threatening to spill over onto the pale hospital floor. She must’ve been wondering what her child had done to deserve such a cruel fate, and the answer was nothing. Nothing could have warranted hurting a child so badly.

Next came the friends. There was a ragtag group of boys, who looked vastly out of place with snapbacks and hoodies and cuffed jeans, a solemn look carved into their young faces. They sat by the bed for a long while, nobody saying a thing. It could’ve been any one of them lying on the bed.

A teacher came in next. One who never gave up on the boy, even at his lowest times. She left a gift, a keepsake that she wasn’t even sure if the boy would ever get to see. It sat on the table next to the bed untouched, a grim reminder for all to see.

Nobody stopped to talk to the man standing guard by the doorway. He had been standing there for the whole day, pulling his red and gold jacket in every time the cold hospital air got to him. He would peer into the ward with a heavy look in his eyes, plagued by memories only he knew. 

_ What kind of monster hurts a child? _ They ask.

He would know.

He was there when the errant beeping sounded and the medical team started running.

He was there when they tried everything they could.

He was there when it was too late.

The boy would never wake up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, shit's a little faster in this chapter, but it's slow burn as always!  
> honestly the mental image of the Blue Spirit running through the streets in the day in a random T-shirt with Sokka chasing after him and yelling amuses me a lot buuuut that's not this fic so we can leave that up to our imaginations  
> anyway, an angsty chapter for the morning after. Look at me walking the fine line of angst and gay panic because God, sometimes I just want to slap some sense into Zuko. My boy needs to exercise his brain cell once in a while.  
> Also I don't know how I got so invested in the story of the kid that he tried to save, but well, you can see where I went with that.  
> 
> 
> obligatory "I update every week so stay tuned" message.
> 
> tumblr - emptyheadspace


	14. the jasmine dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sokka has had enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cmon man, cmon.

The article was released on Monday 6a.m., first thing in the papers come morning.

**_Local Teen Killed: Is Gang Violence Escalating in Our City?_ **

The blog post was published two weeks later, Monday 9a.m.

**_The Blue Spirit Disappears Again: Where is our Masked Hero?_ **

The stark white light illuminated the room just a little too bright. The walls were painted a generic shade of off-white, some of the paint peeling near the corners. The tacky feel of the plastic chair kept him from getting too comfortable.

Sokka eyed the officer seated across the table with a wary look. He was treading in dangerous waters here. But he was ready to answer each and every question about to be thrown at him with the rigor and accuracy often demanded of photojournalists like him. He had been fully prepared for this moment since day one. It felt strange to be the one answering the questions instead of asking them, but he tucked that thought away and put his hands together.

“Have you had any contact with the vigilante in the last two weeks?” The officer asked.

_ Guess they were cutting to the chase here _ , Sokka thought grimly. He noted how the officer used the impersonal “vigilante” to address the Blue Spirit. 

“No.” It was the truth. The cold, hard truth.

“Have you ever come into contact with the vigilante?” The officer leaned in, studying Sokka with an impassive look on his face.

“I have had a few run-ins with the vigilante when I was outside doing my job,” Sokka said, fixing a resolute expression onto his face. He wasn’t technically lying.

“You’ve been reporting about the vigilante’s  _ activities _ ,” the officer continued, choosing to place emphasis on the word, as if waiting for a response.

“It’s my job,” Sokka stated plainly.

“You’re a photojournalist,” the officer spoke up again. “It is not within your job scope.”

“Last I recall, journalists are given the freedom to report about whatever topics they find interesting,” Sokka rebutted. “I so happen to have an interest in crime blogging.”

“Are you aware of the identity of the vigilante?” The officer skipped straight to the point.

“No, no I don’t.” That much was for certain. 

“Are you aware that aiding and abetting a criminal can result in a criminal sentence?”

_ A criminal _ . They were calling the Blue Spirit a criminal. 

“Yes,” Sokka said, betraying no emotion.

“Do you foresee yourself running into the vigilante again in the future?”

Something twanged inside Sokka. A twinge of bitterness perhaps. Maybe disappointment. Maybe something that was once was. Something that tugged at the deeper recesses of his heart.

“No,” Sokka said. “I don’t think I’ll see the vigilante again.”

And here he thought they had shared some kind of connection. 

The empty desk felt like a blatant reminder of how lonely Sokka felt. 

Zuko hadn’t come into the office since the day he attended the police press release. The paper had entrusted their top crime reporter with securing the release date of the article for the teen’s death. Sokka had thought it particularly tragic, and even voiced that out loud to Zuko before he had left for the press release, but Zuko had been particularly quiet about it. He had thought it was strange, but hadn’t said anything about it. Zuko was usually so vocal about political issues of the same nature.

Sokka was worried. He hadn’t seen Zuko in about two weeks. Had he fallen sick? Had something happened at home? Was he feeling okay? Had he finally dropped dead because of the instant noodles that Sokka had claimed would one day kill him? Zuko hadn’t been picking up any of his nineteen calls (Sokka had been counting), the dial tone a familiar buzz in his ear every time the line went dead. He had no idea where Zuko even lived, so there was no way he could drop in and make sure that everything was okay.

He wondered for a second if he had done something wrong. Had he said something he wasn’t supposed to the last time they saw each other? Had he said something that rubbed Zuko the wrong way? He knew that the possibilities of that were next to zero, but still he hoped that he really hadn’t offended Zuko or anything.

First, the Blue Spirit drops off the face of the earth, and now Zuko is missing in action?  _ Worst two weeks of Sokka’s life.  _

He had spent days moping around the office, getting none of his work assignments done. Staring at the empty desk. Getting out a second mug and the sugar sachets every time he paid a visit to the coffee machine only to remember that there was nobody to drink it. Walking back to his seat. Staring at the stupid office chair Zuko was supposed to be sitting in. Editing photos. Clicking past the folder for the photos he had took that day after the sunset. Staring at the empty desk again. Go home. Repeat. 

It felt like he had his whole life on hold. It was miserable.  _ He _ was miserable. 

He had had enough.

No more of this bullshit.

Sokka couldn’t sit around sulking any longer.

He had to find Zuko.

Zuko set down the cup just a little too hard, the tea almost sloshing out the sides and grazing his hand. He bowed apologetically to the man he was serving, who flashed him a look that was more concerned than angry, and then hurried into the back.

“Careful, Zuko,” Iroh cautioned. “The tea is hot. Don’t burn yourself.”

“Okay, uncle,” Zuko said, resignedly. 

The tea shop was relatively empty today. Usually there would be more customers at this time of noon, but they must’ve all been lured to the other side of the street where the new mall had just been opened. Business would be scarce for a while until the novelty of the mall tided over. Then everyone would come wandering back into the tea shop, seeking out a good cup of tea. His uncle did always call tea a timeless classic among beverages.

Zuko had been getting used to the quiet going-ons of the place. People streaming in and out, settling into plush seats on bamboo tables, perusing the menu. All he had to do was walk up to them and take their order, and then leave the brewing to his uncle and whichever apprentice was on shift at the time. It was a simple and repetitive task, but every customer was always looking for something different, so it was far from boring. In fact, he might even say that he found the routine a little comforting, to slip back into something familiar from the days before he became the Blue Spirit. 

Anything to distract him from the Blue Spirit.

After his outburst at Sokka’s house, Zuko had been re-evaluating his life choices.

Which was not a rare occurrence in itself, in fact it wouldn’t be a normal day in Zuko’s life if he  _ didn’t _ re-evaluate his life choices at least once in the scheme of things. But this time, there was something else. Something that ran deeper and darker. A growing mess of something ugly. Guilt? Regret? Helplessness? Maybe it was all of them at once. 

The Blue Spirit had failed to save a life.

A child had died on his watch.

Someone’s  _ death _ was on his hands.

Zuko was stuck. He was drowning in a pit of despair, and this time he didn’t know if he was strong enough to pull himself out of it. Every time he tried to close his eyes and try to give in to sleep, to make the voices in his head go away, to stop the living nightmare that his days were turning into, all he could see was the panic-stricken eyes. All he could hear was the screaming. All he could feel was the cold hospital air, the way his own heart stopped when the beeping started. 

He couldn’t run from what he had done.

It was almost hilarious how he once thought he could be a hero.

Zuko slumped down against the wall. This was going to be a long day.

_ Little did he know.  _

“Welcome to The Jasmine Dragon.” The sound of his uncle’s voice snapped him out of it. He scrambled to his feet, quickly realizing that he was supposed to be the one welcoming customers into the shop and leading them to their seats.

Before he could emerge from the back of the shop, another voice halted him dead in his tracks.

“Do you know anyone named Zuko, by any chance?”

_ Fuck. FUCK _ .  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _

“Zuko? Oh, you mean my nephew?”

Zuko was desperately hoping that by the sheer power of will his uncle would stop talking. Please. He was already trying to mentally broadcast all of his horror and absolute disbelief all the way to where his uncle was standing, facing a very familiar and unexpected figure.

“Nephew? You must be Uncle Iroh!” Sokka exclaimed, a look of understanding dawning upon him. 

The old man standing before him looked him over once, then looked him over again. There was a curious look in his eyes, as if he knew something that Sokka didn’t. Zuko’s uncle wore a kind smile, his face etched with years of wisdom and understanding. He made Sokka feel instantly at ease, his shoulders relaxing a little after being nervous for an entire bus ride of wondering if he had gotten the correct tea shop.

“Yes, that’s me,” Iroh said. “You must be Sokka.”

“How did you know my name?”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Iroh tutted.

“You have?”

“Oh yes, Zuko talks about you all the time.” Iroh smiled to himself. “Come, have a seat.”

_ He does _ ?

“Oh, I’m just here to find Zuko,” Sokka explained. “There’s no need.”

“Nonsense, you cannot come to my tea shop and not enjoy a cup of tea,” Iroh insisted. “Now sit.”

Even though Iroh had offered no answer to whether Zuko was around, Sokka felt strangely compelled to do as he said, so he sat.

Iroh vanished into the back, leaving him to take in the shop around him. 

There was a soothing quality in the earthy tones of the tea shop, with traditional Japanese elements worked into the interior design. The fragrant smell of what Sokka could only assume were tea leaves floated through the air, filling the entire inside with a pleasant aroma. Sokka had heard raving reviews about not only the tea that The Jasmine Dragon made, but also the ambiance and atmosphere. Now he could see why the locals had a lot of good things to say about this tea spot. 

There was the sound of metal clinking softly in the back, and someone bustling around. He wondered if it was Zuko. He had no idea what to expect when he had come looking for the shop. There had to be tons of other tea shops in the city, but he was glad that he had finally found the one. On his sixth try at that!

He tried to relax. There had be a logical explanation for why Zuko was avoiding him.

“Zuko.”

Zuko slapped his palm against his forehead. This was so not happening. How did Sokka even find this place?”

“Zuko.”

There had to be dozens of other tea shops in the city. How did he miraculous show up at this one? Why was he even here?

“Zuko, calm down,” Iroh repeated.

“How can I be calm?!” Zuko shouted as quietly as possible. “He’s right there!”

“I know you haven’t seen him in a long time, but don’t you think it’s time you two talked?”

“No, Uncle,” Zuko said quieter, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “ _ I can’t. _ ”

No way was he ready to face Sokka. He had let him down. He could not let himself get close to Sokka again. There was no way he was going to let himself hurt or endanger someone else again, especially not Sokka.

Sokka deserved better.

Sokka had someone else.

Sokka  _ liked _ someone else.

He didn’t need Zuko poking around in his life and hiding all these secrets from him. It was inevitable that Sokka was going to get hurt if he kept hanging around Zuko, even if they were just friends.

It was fine. As long as Sokka was happy, he could live with himself. 

Iroh softened at the look of distress on his nephew’s face.

Then he nodded.

“Okay, fetch me the chamomile.”

By the time Iroh came out of the back holding a tray with two cups and a teapot, Sokka was already blistering from the suspense. He was so close,  _ so close _ to finding Zuko, and he didn’t even know if he was here. It must’ve been obvious from his face, for Iroh was already bracing to tell Sokka the bad news.

“Zuko is not here,” Iroh said solemnly. “But you can have tea with me instead.”

Zuko let out a weak sigh from afar. He didn’t know if he was relieved.

“Oh.” Sokka’s face fell. He should’ve known it was a futile attempt from the start.

“Here, I made you chamomile tea with a hint of peppermint,” Iroh started to explain, placing the cup gingerly in front of Sokka and expertly maneuvering the teapot and pouring a steady stream of steaming tea from a small height. “I find that it soothes the soul, and you look like you could use some relaxation right now.”

Sokka found himself entranced by the quickly-filling up cup, and he was instantly transported back to that very special evening with Zuko. As Iroh poured the tea, he could see Zuko doing the same, albeit with a little more vigor and less of the patience that Iroh possessed. It was a memory that he cherished. Zuko had made him something. But now he was just filled with an overwhelming ache that it might never happen again.

“Here.”

Sokka took a small, uncertain sip at first.

Then he took another. And another.

The floral notes of the chamomile pooled in a pleasantly filling but light warmth at the back of his throat, reminding him of quiet spring nights and lazy days in bed. The peppermint washed in with a cooling wave, highlighting the earthiness of the chamomile. Even through the airiness of the tea, there was something about the feel of it that made him feel grounded, rooted. Slowly his back had started to untense itself as Sokka practically started to sink back into the soft backrest of the seat, the sounds and smells of the tea shop really starting to come back to him, soft and reassuring.

“What do you think?” Iroh prompted.

“It’s... _ good _ , really good,” Sokka whispered. He had no idea how to describe tea, but he truly could say that he had ever had tea like this before. Zuko’s tea was good, but in a different sort of way. He was really starting to understand how different tea could be. And it wasn’t just the taste or the flavor.

Having tea with Zuko made it feel more energetic, like there was a life force flowing through him when he took a drink, igniting all the words left unsaid. Zuko’s tea tasted like unspoken promises and looking out onto the future and wondering about what was to come. It was a thought-provoking one that brought with it questions and glimpses of hope, keeping him wondering about something more.

Iroh’s tea, on the other hand, was more grounding. Iit was like the ground under his feet and the air around him and the heat of the cup in his hands and the steady flow of liquid as he drank. It was harmonious, and balanced, and everything that mattered in the moment. The tea brought him back to earth, a soothing balm for his staticky nerves.

This was so strange.

He was drinking tea with Zuko’s uncle. And he was enjoying it.

Iroh didn’t really seem to mind. He looked perfectly content to sit here and drink tea with Sokka. Sokka supposed it must be the lack of customers in the shop, but it still made him feel a little uneasy to be taking up Iroh’s time like this.

“Do you know if Zuko is okay?” Sokka spoke up after they drank in silence for a while.

“I think Zuko wants to be alone right now,” Iroh sighed. “Even if it is not the wisest decision.”

Sokka considered his words.

“You run that blog, don’t you?” Iroh spoke up again. 

“Hm? You’ve heard of it?” Sokka looked up.

“I’m not that old, Sokka,” Iroh said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Sorry!” Sokka tipped his head apologetically. “How did you hear about it?”

“Zuko told me all about it.”

“Really?”  _ Well, that’s interesting _ . It was surreal to think about how Zuko would talk about him outside of work, but Sokka couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased about it.

“Yes, how is the blog going?”

“Not good,” Sokka confessed. “The Blue Spirit hasn’t showed up in weeks. I’m getting worried.”

“About the blog?”

“Well, yeah. And the Blue Spirit himself, I guess,” Sokka’s voice started fading. It sounded weird to admit it out loud, but he  _ was _ concerned about the vigilante himself. It was a truth that he was reluctant to admit, even to himself. It wasn’t like the Blue Spirit could just give him a call or drop in and tell him everything was a-okay, but he would still like to know why on earth he disappeared without a trace. It made Sokka feel a twinge of sadness, and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he knew the guy personally.

_ He’s worried? Sokka’s worried about me? The Blue Spirit? Me, the Blue Spirit? _ Zuko meanwhile was straining to hear their conversation, giving in after a whole moment of trying to convince himself that he was not going to be distracted from washing up cups. Somehow, the thought of it made him feel even worse. Sokka cared so much about him, and all Zuko could do was hide from him and keep secrets. 

“Ah, the Blue Spirit,” Iroh said, looking into the distance. “I’ve heard of him, he seems like a jasmine tea kind of person.”

Sokka was starting to find himself fond of Iroh. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks. He found himself opening up more and more to the old man, as if he wanted to confide all his life’s problems in someone he didn’t even know a moment ago. It was strange. He didn’t know the man. Well, he knew that he was Zuko’s uncle, but that was it.

“And-” Sokka started, then stopped.

Iroh looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

“And Zuko,” Sokka finally admitted after a pause. “I’m worried about Zuko.”

Zuko’s heart fell.

Iroh nodded, his eyes understanding. Yet somehow it felt like Iroh was staring into his soul, piercing and searching for something. 

“I have something for him, if he happens to drop by later.” Sokka pulled out a red bento box. “I made extra, so I thought I would bring it just in case he got hungry.”

Iroh’s eyes widened, but not in surprise.

“Thank you Sokka,” Iroh said, receiving it. 

“I should get going, thank you for the tea,” Sokka replied, getting up from his seat. He may not have found Zuko today, but he wasn’t leaving heavy-hearted either.

“Thank you for looking after my nephew,” Iroh called out as he began to leave.

Sokka looked over his shoulder and offered a small smile and a wave.

Iroh sighed, a wistful look in his eyes as he watched Sokka leave.

_ Kids these days need to learn how to talk about their feelings _ , he mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally love a good black chai, although I am most definitely privy to a lot of other kinds of tea as well. As for coffee, I either take it with 50% milk and sugar (I hear ya, Zuko), or just black and bitter like my soul. No in between. Although I would just say that caffeine in general doesn’t work to wake me up, so drinking coffee or tea is more of an Experience™ for me.
> 
> and FINALLY some Iroh appearances.
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	15. blue moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko mopes around in the dark and Iroh invites him on a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: oh shit what happens next do they get to be happy??  
> me: (stares at my word doc) riiiiiiiiiiight 
> 
> my timed tests have just finished and all I'm doing these days is writing writing and more writing, so I’m dropping this new update and the sickest philosophical analogy just yet (I hope)

“Zuko?”

Iroh poked his head around the side of the door, peering into the dark room and searching for a familiar silhouette of one very angsty nephew in the dark. The blinds had been bitterly pulled all the way down, plunging the entirety of the small guest room into a blackness that matched how Zuko felt inside. He turned his back away from the door and his uncle, the sudden flood of warm light a glaring intrusion. How long has it been since he last saw the light? Physically, probably three hours ago. Figuratively? He did not know.

“Zuko.”

Zuko remained silent, tugging the blanket up even further until it covered most of his head. The blanket was the only thing between him and the world, a familiar shield of washed cotton and dusty comfort in the dark. Maybe if he lay there under the dusty sheets his uncle would go away eventually. Maybe. Then he could continue lying under the covers and will the sleepless night away through the inevitable and never-ending passage of time. He had no intention of getting up from the bed, no matter how convincing his uncle could be. 

“It’s a lovely night for a walk, why don’t you join me?” 

Unfortunately things were never that simple in his life. He didn’t know whether to stir up some warmth in his heart at that idea, or to be irrationally consumed with guilt that his uncle wasn’t giving up on him so easily. Either way, his uncle was already making him feel bad about hopping into bed and wasting the evening away. 

“It would clear your head,” Iroh offered.

Zuko made a small grumbling noise. He fastened his arms over his chest, stubbornly facing the wall and glaring a hole through it. Why did his uncle have to care so much about him? Why couldn’t he just leave Zuko alone to mope in peace? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened earlier in the day. Sokka had showed up at the tea shop. And Zuko had hid from him, like a coward and a fool. But he dreaded to think of the disappointment in Sokka’s face if he had faced him and struggled to give an answer that would never be satisfactory unless he told him the whole truth. And the whole truth? Well, Zuko was not ready to go there, and he didn’t know if he would ever be ready. 

“Or just stay in your room and sit in the dark,” Iroh said. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Zuko heard the slow creak of the door, the slab of light growing smaller and smaller as Iroh prepared to leave the room. 

“Wait.”

Iroh turned around to see his nephew slowly hoisting himself out of the bed.

“I’ll go with you,” Zuko said quietly. 

Okay, maybe his uncle was more convincing than he had thought.

  
  


The night was indeed lovely, but Zuko could not find any enjoyment in the slow pace that his uncle had led him on, carving a trail through the buildings and into the park nearby. The moon was high in the cloudless sky, a small smattering of stars peeking out from the deep blue. There was barely anybody around, too busy on a Thursday night with work and school and all the commitments a regular functioning human being should have if they weren’t moping around in a park trying to get their life back together again.

“I quite like Sokka,” Iroh spoke up, breaking the silence. He must’ve noticed how tense Zuko was, how tight and short his strides were as he walked and the way he shoved his hands into both pockets, for his uncle only seemed to further slow down the pace, forcing him into a less erratic gait.

Zuko was in no mood to talk, but he supposed he would indulge his uncle. He did take it upon himself to join him on this walk after all. He didn’t even know why he had done it. It wasn’t like a walk was going to take the weight of the world off his shoulders or change his feelings for Sokka. 

“Mm,” he grunted, eloquently. 

“He’s a good kid,” Iroh continued. “Wouldn’t mind him hanging around more, maybe he can do something about your terrible eating habits, Zuko.”

“They’re not terrible,” Zuko huffed, although even he knew it was a blatant lie.

“Oh, but they are,” Iroh tutted.

“Where are we going?” Zuko tried to switch the topic. Any topic. Anything that’s not about Sokka or his pathetic life choices. He would not break down in the middle of a public park.

“Nowhere,” Iroh replied truthfully, folding his hands into his sleeves.

“Then what is the point of walking?” Zuko asked, confounded.

“Walking does not need a destination, for it is a journey,” Iroh began.

“What does that even mean?” _Another one of his uncle’s convoluted speeches, great._

“It means that getting to where you want to be isn’t always so simple,” Iroh explained slowly and patiently. He was very much used to Zuko’s outbursts. “The path to achieving one’s goals and desires is not a straight line, Zuko.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“Take a look at this path.” Iroh stepped aside. “Tell me what you see.”

“It’s dark, and it’s concrete.” Zuko tried to deflect the inevitable saying with an entirely sarcastic answer. He was in no mood to entertain his uncles philosophical teachings. There was nothing special about the walkway they were standing on, just another one of the many raised pathways that twined their way through the park.

“ _Exactly_.”

Zuko gave his uncle a confused look. _What_?

“This path is dark now,” Iroh said. “But what happens when the sun comes up?”

“It becomes...not dark?” 

“You’re starting to understand,” Iroh murmured appreciatively. “Now, how long do you think you’ll stand here on this path?”

“Not for long, we’re already halfway through,” Zuko pointed out, thoroughly confused. 

“There!” Iroh affirmed. “Would you say want to stand on this path for the rest of the night waiting for the sun to come up?”

“...No. That’s a waste of time.”

“Then why is it that you do the same for your own path?”

It was like Zuko had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

“You’ve been stuck on this dark path for too long, Zuko,” Iroh spared his nephew no time to think. “You’ve been wandering aimlessly, trudging on slowly, waiting and waiting for a better path to open up and come along. But don’t you see? It’s not the path that changes, this path will always be concrete and it will always be dark at night, but what the path is now doesn’t matter, _what you do next_ is the thing that matters.”

Zuko felt like he was assaulted by clarity, like something had wiggled inside his brain and planted a seed of understanding inside. His uncle’s words were slowly starting to connect and build up this jigsaw puzzle of realization. His path. His life. The darkness. Call him crazy, but he was starting to understand just what his uncle was saying.

“Walk, Zuko. _Walk_ ,” Iroh urged. “Run if you must, but if you really want to continue down this dark path, you must know that there are many other paths waiting at the end, and all you have to do is keep moving. You cannot stand around waiting for the sun to come up, for by the time you have decided to start walking, the next night will come again.”

That’s it. That was it. That was what he needed to do. He had to pick himself up. He had to stop moping around. It was like he was being slapped across the face by his uncle’s words of wisdom. He never thought he would see the day that he actually wanted more of the philosophical ramblings that emerged from his uncle’s conversations. But here he was, and by god was he glad.

“You were always a warrior, but that doesn’t mean you cannot find peace, Zuko.”

“How?” Zuko could only ask. _How could he come to make peace with himself when he had only known war for all his life? How could he settle down and let himself calm down for a second when that second could be used to protect himself in the next battle? How could he let himself get close to someone when all he did was fight and even that was not enough?_

Iroh stopped and turned to Zuko with a heavy look in his eyes. The gesture shocked Zuko as he found himself staring into his uncle’s solemn face. It was like he had waited his whole life for what he was about to say to Zuko. In the next second, Iroh was pointing to Zuko’s chest, and it took a while for Zuko to realize that his uncle was pointing at his heart.

“ _What do you want_ , Zuko?”

Want. He hadn’t thought about that in a long time. What did he want? _What did he want_? It was such a simple question, but it was one that he had never been honest with even when it came to himself. For you see, Zuko did not quite know what he wanted. Even if he did, even if for a second he pretended like he knew what he wanted, he had never came to terms with it, never understood it, never admitted it, never let himself believe it. He did not know if he could ever let himself fight for what he wanted. Could that be right? Could he ever let himself pursue what he wanted? 

“It’s your path, Zuko,” Iroh advised. “What you want is what keeps you moving.”

Zuko felt like he had to sit down. For so long, he had been wandering around without a clear destination, and all this time he thought he knew what he wanted. He wanted to help people, and he was fixated on that and that alone, and now that he had failed (had he failed?) he had no idea where he was and which direction he was trying to go in. He wasn’t even trying to go in any direction. He was stuck, and that much was clear.

It took a while for him to realize that his uncle had been unusually silent after a while.

He looked over at his uncle, only to see the man staring at the moon.

So he did too. It was a day or two before the moon would be a complete full moon, the brilliance shining onto the whole city. It bathed the park in a surreal white glow, but there were still shadows hiding amidst the light. It made the park look emptier than it really was, hiding all the late night joggers and the people obscured behind bushes. It was the first time Zuko was really starting to see his surroundings instead of letting himself be trapped inside the hurricane in his head. 

It took a moment before his uncle broke the silence.

“Zuko, who did you think the mask belonged to?” 

Zuko was lost for words.

“Wait, hold on a second,” Zuko reeled back in surprise, stuttering. Could it be? Could it really be? It must be, his uncle would not ask that question if it wasn’t. “The attic. The sudden appearance. The fated timing. It was no coincidence.”

“You needed a push in the right direction,” Iroh continued. “The mask helped me back in the days, and it is time for the mask to help you too.”

“ You. It was all you! It was always you! The mask, it was yours!” Zuko was trying his damndest to wrap his head around the idea that the mask, the mask of the Blue Spirit had once belonged to his uncle. He had always knew there was something special about it, but the thought of his uncle being the one to pass it down to him had never once crossed his mind. But now that it did, it just made so much sense that he felt like he was about to pass out.

When he became the Blue Spirit, he had been so worried that his uncle would never condone his actions, would never accept that he had been trying to find some other way to right his father’s wrongs and to make it up to the people. All along he had been so blindsided by his constant fear of losing the one family member who had always been there for him that he had never even considered the very real possibility that it was the same family member who had given him an opportunity in the first place. Of course his uncle had been the one to give him the means to fulfill his ideas, to fulfill the one thing he sworn he would always do.

The one thing that he would continue to do. 

_Zuko was the Blue Spirit._

“Yes,” Iroh reminisced. “There was a time I was ashamed of it.”

“Ashamed?”

“The mask has seen many tragedies and horrible things of the past,” Iroh sighed. “Things that I could never be proud of.”

“What changed?”

“I found a new purpose with the mask,” Iroh said, stroking his beard. “I did not let the mistakes of the past define who I was in the present.”

“Were you a vigilante too?”

“No,” Iroh answered, chuckling a little. “I was far too cowardly for that.”

“You were cowardly?” Zuko could quite hardly believe his ears. His uncle was one of the bravest and wisest people that he knew. Not that he knew many people, but his point still stood strong. His uncle had always been the pillar of strength in his life, the unswaying and grounded support that he found himself returning to time and time again. It was hard for him to even imagine his uncle faltering in the face of difficulty, to imagine him losing his calm demeanor. 

“I’ve lost a lot in my time,” Iroh said, his voice hinging on sad. “None of which I could have ever regained back.”

Zuko kept staring and waiting.

“But there _was_ one thing that I managed to get back.”

“What was that, uncle?”

“Myself,” Iroh said resolutely. “I lost myself, but I managed to move down my own path eventually.”

Zuko nodded slowly. 

Maybe he needed to take a page out of his uncle’s book.

He needed to start moving too.

Zuko turned to his uncle, his face lifting out of the shadows from the surrounding trees in the quiet park. The moon was climbing higher into the sky, the light streaming down to illuminate the path ahead. It was getting late, but he was no longer concerned about the time or how soon it was before he could retreat back to the darkness of his room.

“I know what I have to do, Uncle.”

It was only when he was back in his room alone later in the night that Zuko finally dared to open the red bento box. 

It was a complete homecooked meal, one that you could reheat quickly. Inside the box lay a nest of rice and karaage chicken, bordered by edamame and potato salad. It looked like someone had spent an unusual amount of effort in trying to center the rice and arranging the greens and the chicken until it looked like it was shaped into an actual chicken, complete with an orange carrot crest. 

It looked like an actual fucking chicken. It was so tightly packed with food to the brim that the shape still remained even though it had been half a day. There was something so comical about the potato beak and the edamame wings, a tongue-in-cheek joke that only one person he knew would ever do. There was something so simple yet so emotional about the way that the chicken was just looking at him expectantly, as if it had its own imaginary chicken voice that squawked at him to eat better. 

He almost laughed at the irony of it all.

It was in that small guest room that one boy sat alone with a red bento box laid out carefully in front of him. He stared it at with chopsticks in one hand, as if reluctant to approach the meal, like it contained a great secret that he did not want to know just yet. When he finally picked up the courage to dig in, it was only halfway through the meal that he realized with all the hunger and longing in his soul that tears were streaming full-force down his face.

They were mingling with the taste of a home that he had grown familiar with and had come to love. It was like the feeling that one would get after coming back to a home left in the past, the solace one could seek in letting oneself loose amidst their true desires. It was the product of heartache and pining and wanting something (or someone) so badly but he could never have.

It was time for him to make peace with that and continue bravely down his path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The path to achieving one’s goals and desires is not a straight line, Zuko” and You are not a straight line as well, Zuko.
> 
> Iroh spitting straight facts here and it's a little shorter (just a little) than other chapters because I mean for this to be a stop point, like a post-all-is-lost chapter in which Zuko understands a few things and sorts out his mental processes (with the help of one Uncle Iroh) so yeah. Here we go.
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	16. back to blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko and Sokka both have something to confess to each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zuko: I've been meaning to tell you something  
> sokka: *surprised pikachu face*  
> sokka: wait, me too  
> zuko: *surprised pikachu face*

Zuko tugged on the hood of his jacket, pulling it closer to his neck. 

Up here the buzz of the street lamps and the idling of car engines felt like a familiar tune far below, the wind whispering the secrets of the night in his ear. He had made his way down this route at least a few dozen different times, and could name all the obscure little shops that lined the streetside with the signs printed in niche fonts, the white fluorescent lights glaring bright even this late in the night. He felt a strange comfort in knowing that there were still people awake in the city below, like he wasn’t totally alone.

He watched the lights snuff out one by one in the windows. It felt a bit strange that nobody could quite see him from the ground, but he had an undisturbed view of the city from up here. If he closed his eyes, he could let the quiet of night envelope him and pretend that nothing was bad or wrong in the world for just a split second.

But he was not here to admire the scenery or brood. Not tonight.

For you see, the Blue Spirit was back.

He spent a few moments breathing in deep.

And then he leapt. 

The Blue Spirit took off down the roof like a shadow in the night, his boots hitting the concrete with a clean and rhythmic thudding. He felt calm yet pumped up, the rush of adrenaline rushing back into him after what felt like an eternity of lying dormant and waiting around for who knows what. Well, wait he shall no more. His legs knew exactly how to move; where to step; what to avoid. This was his world up here, the rooftops barren save for the occasional air ducts and water riser. 

He was not going to sit around. He wasn’t going to let everything go to shit just because he couldn’t save one person when he could save so much more. He wasn’t going to let his personal setbacks stop him from keeping at it, stop him from being the Blue Spirit he needed to be. The Blue Spirit that everyone needed him to be.

He was fast approaching a gap in between the rooftops of two adjoining buildings, a five-storey fall down below.

He cleared the distance with ease, his momentum from running propelling him clean over the edge as he landed with a roll. Everything felt so real now, no longer like a distant and hazy memory covered with a layer of pain and regret. The ground under his feet; the rough and dirty surface of the roof; the heart pumping in his chest; it was all real.

He was real.

The Blue Spirit was real.

It was a quiet night, and he wasn’t expecting anything huge to happen, but it still felt like a change to be out and about. The wind tasted sharp on his skin, and he speculated that it was the whole week of staying in a dark, still room that made him feel like he was flying through the air. The whole world went by in a blur, and it served him some perspective that even when he was stuck on his own path, the whole world didn’t stop as well. It was still going, and he had to keep up with it if he was going to get anything done.

With the help of a small slanted ledge hanging off the side of the building, he managed to swing himself onto a fire escape and descend down the metal structure all the way to the floor. He didn’t intend on staying up on rooftops all day, it was a practical viewpoint but it wasn’t practical when he actually had to do something.

Tonight was going to be a good night, one to help him ease back into the whole flow of it.

He could already feel it in his bones.

“Ah shit,” Zuko cursed as one of his clasps tore on a small sharp corner as he clambered down the last storey to the ground. Even if he had an unnerving love for the abundance of fire escapes in this part of town, he harbored no affection for the rickety condition they were in.

He fished the mask off his face, taking a deep breath of air.

The jagged crack was still there. Like a scar. Like his scar.

But damn if Zuko was going to let that be a deterrent. Not today, not any day. If anything, it only reminded him what he was fighting for.

He inspected the elastic strap with a frown.

No matter, it was just a slight catch that could be sewn over tomorrow. He just had to check if it would break apart if he stretched it and then he could put it back on his face and be on his merry way-

“Zuko?!”

 _FUCK_ . _FUckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

“Sokka??? What are you doing here?” Zuko asked with a nervous laugh, stuffing the mask all the way up the back of his hoodie as subtly as he possibly could as he whirled around, cursing the gods and hoping that the bag on his back would hold it in place. _Fucking hell. Absolute fucking hell. Motherfucking shit hell._

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same.” _Ah, there was that familiar voice, dripping with sarcasm and glazed with wit._ It had been missed. 

“Uh yeah! Yeah, I live in this area,” Zuko blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. “Not this area you know, nearby, just around here.”

“Really? I always thought you lived closer to the city.” 

“This is closer to the city!” Zuko defended. 

“Okay, okay, what are you doing out at night?” Sokka was relentless.

Really? Out of all the fucking places in the city and times of day that Zuko could accidentally run into Sokka, the universe decided that it had to be now? Right here right now? Below some rickety old fire escape halfway into yet another shady alley? What kind of worldly error had he committed to deserve such absolutely bullshit bad luck?

“Uh, same as you,” Zuko said, hoping that Sokka had not miraculously emerged into the outdoors to do something vastly obscure like photographing pigeons.

If Sokka had noticed that Zuko was dressed weirdly, he hadn’t said anything yet. Zuko was hoping desperately that he had cultivated enough reputation as an emo and angsty dude who wears black most of the time for this to appear normal. Without the mask, he was simply wearing a black hoodie and cargo pants tucked into equally black boots. His knives were concealed under the waistband in special compartments, so as long as Sokka didn’t find his overwhelming love of black unusual, he was good for now.

“Tracking the Blue Spirit?” 

“Yes! Exactly,” Zuko exclaimed before he could stop himself. “I heard he was back.”

“But why?” Sokka fixed him a genuinely confused look. “And _how_?”

Zuko slapped himself twice inside.

“Look, it’s a long story,” Zuko said, very convincingly. “We should sit down and talk.”

“Talk,” Sokka said quietly. “Yeah, we should probably do that.”

“Here?” Zuko suggested, gesturing vaguely.

“How about somewhere indoors?”

That definitely made much more sense, considering that they were standing in a dark alley in the middle of practically nowhere.

Zuko was feeling a very peculiar sense of déjà vu **.**

“Right, right of course,” Zuko groaned at his own stupidity. 

“Come on, I know a place.”

Oh well, missing one night of patrol didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. 

For a moment, Zuko wondered if Sokka was inviting him back to his house, but then they rounded a few corners in silence before emerging out onto an unfamiliar little road. He was also wondering if he should say anything, but Sokka was already walking faster towards the warm yellow glow of a shophouse before Zuko could even begin to process where they were. He had been through this area once or twice on a patrol maybe, but he had never stopped to look inside the shops and see what they had to offer.

“My favorite ramen shop!” Sokka gestured in a mock dramatic bow. “I used to come here all the time, the ramen’s really good.”

Zuko nodded dumbly as he followed Sokka into the warmth of the little shop, hands in his pockets. The place was a little more than a hole in the wall—the kind of dining establishment that only locals would know about—but there was an unexplainable sort of charm to it. He supposed that it was like how his uncle’s tea shop was charming, in the small and quaint neighborhood way—strangely cozy with the promise of good food and drink.

Sokka chose one of the seats on the right, with a wooden bench huddled up against the wall on one side and two chairs on the other side of the table. It offered a view of the little road outside the shop, and although there wasn’t much to see, it was still a nice option.

Zuko shuffled awkwardly into the bench seat, while Sokka took a chair.

They spent a small period of silence looking through the laminated menu on the table. There was a slightly awkward line of tension between them that neither of them were ready to address yet, and though Zuko was dying to dispel it, he didn’t want to create more trouble for himself than he already had.

When Sokka got up and made a beeline to the counter at the back to order for them, Zuko scrambled to stuff the mask into his backpack, zipping it up tight for good measure. He was so  _ glad _ he decided to carry a backpack on this fine night, for no other than the sake of hydration. He got thirsty on patrols, and although it wasn’t the most practical thing to carry around when you were jumping across rooftops, he was glad he decided that a bottle was absolutely necessary that night.

Sokka came back to the table with napkins and a buzzer.

“So, long time no see, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Zuko managed, impressively.

“What’s been keeping you from work?” Sokka asked, hand shooting up to run through his hair instinctively, more a nervous gesture.

_ He looks good _ , Zuko thought, unsurprisingly. Sokka always looked good. Even when he was dressed like he was an eccentric university student who decided to hit the mini-mart for a snack in the middle of pulling an all-nighter. That was a realization he had to live with every time he talked to him. It was absolutely ridiculous and definitely not slowly killing him from the inside.

“Family problems,” Zuko admitted.

it wasn’t a complete lie. He  _ had _ been spending his time beating himself up over the past, and wrestling with his own feelings when it came to who he was as his own person and how family was in relation to that. It had been hard, and he wasn’t going to deny the ugly feeling that he got at his worst—the sense that he had always wondered what his life would’ve been like if he hadn’t left home. The painful mix of fear and dread that he might’ve even  _ wanted _ to stay, might’ve even  _ missed _ the person he was before he left; it was all a confusing shitstorm.

But it was something he had been struggling with for a long time, and it was not like he hadn’t made progress with himself. He had learnt to accept that these feelings would never stop haunting him, but he wouldn’t let it drag him down.

“Ah, that’s rough,” Sokka replied.

He wondered if he should bring up all the missed calls or the tea shop visit. Did Zuko even know how many calls he had sent his way? Did Zuko even know how worried he had been, staring at that empty desk for weeks in the office? Did Zuko even know how much Sokka cared? Did he know? So many questions that Sokka was hesitant to ask. Did he really want to know the answers?

“I’ve missed you, Zuko.”

There, he said it. Before he could even start to process how vulnerable that statement in itself even was, or how close to revealing his huge dumb crush on Zuko it was, he said it. Sokka had said it. Maybe he deserved a medal or something for stating the damned obvious. Maybe he needed to slap himself hard across the face.

_ Stupid mouth, stupid brain, stupid can’t even say anything right I just want to- _

Zuko blinked. 

“I missed you too, Sokka.”

_ -fucking congratulate myself?? _

Zuko had said it back. He said it back! 

Sokka could not help the growing smile that made its way onto his face. Screw weeks of moping around and dealing with his crush alone, he was done with that. This was going to work out. He wasn’t going to have to let his feelings cripple his interactions with Zuko any longer. Maybe he had a stab at confessing his damn feelings in an emotional spur-of-the-moment monologue (or not so spur-of-the-moment if you consider weeks of preparation too long for that) that he would find himself jumping into the moment Zuko looked up at him with that stupidly pretty face that he found himself wanting to kiss silly.

“Look Zuko, I know you’ve probably been dealing with rough times in the last few weeks and I know I really have no place to say that I understand what’s been happening,” Sokka began. No matter how much hope he had that things could work out in his favor, he didn’t want to scare Zuko away yet with his sudden declarations of love. “But I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

_ If he was okay _ . Now Zuko was just feeling even more guilty that he made Sokka worry. He had been carrying that guilt with him for weeks now. He felt guilty every time his phone vibrated and he saw the familiar name light up the screen. He felt guilty every time he threw the phone far, far away with no intention of answering it, even though he had desperately wanted to. He felt guilty for not going in to work, for leaving out all the answers and obscuring the truth. He felt guilty as hell, and the least he could do was try to make up for it now.

“I’ve been eating,” Zuko said quietly. “Your bento was really good.”

Sokka sighed an internal sigh of relief. Zuko had gotten his bento after all. Now he didn’t feel as weird about showing up to the tea shop with no prior announcement and being a potential invasion of privacy. 

“That’s great!” Sokka beamed. “I’m glad.”

Zuko managed a small smile of his own. He liked it when Sokka smiled. He liked it when he was the one who made Sokka smile. God, he had it so bad for this guy.

“How was work without me?” Zuko asked, in a joking voice even though he was secretly dying to know.

“Oh, you know,  _ boring _ ,” Sokka tsked. “I missed your stupid mug so much I almost made coffee for your desk.”

“I’m sure it would appreciate the coffee more than I do.” Zuko laughed a little thinking back at Sokka’s little jab back he had first made him coffee. He was slowly starting to ease back into the familiar rhythm of their banter, the little pokes and teases that the both of them traded back in their early days. 

Sokka chuckled. This was nice. This was really nice. He was feeling some of the tension start to give way, the air returning to the same easy and comfortable feeling they felt around each other.

Zuko had always harbored the very curious habit of avoiding eye contact with Sokka, which meant that he was always looking up or down or away, sneaking in the occasional glance back at Sokka to check if he was still listening. Sokka hadn’t brought it up, and he wasn’t sure if he was ever going to. He was kind of glad that he could stare at Zuko without the other noticing his very obviously smitten face. And it so happened that he had missed staring at Zuko’s face. 

In the dim yellow lamplight of the ramen shop, Zuko had never looked prettier. Sokka didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t seen his face in a while, or if Zuko had somehow miraculously grew prettier over their time apart. Either way, he loved the slight smile tugging at Zuko’s lips as he talked, loved the sound of his voice, loved the way a tuft of his hair was always hanging in his face. He loved Zuko’s face. It drew him in and kept him captured in those dark eyes and the softness of his cheeks in contrast with the hardness of his expressions—like a beautiful piece of art to be lost in.

Which was probably how he didn’t notice the sudden appearance of the ramen until it was being set down right in front of him.

“Thank you,” Sokka said sheepishly to the lady serving their ramen as he took his bowl and cutlery from her.

She gave him a strange look.

Sokka found himself flocking back to a classic bowl of tonkotsu ramen once again, the smell of the hearty broth making his stomach rumble. Truth be told, he had been meaning to come back here the moment he found himself trawling the great outdoors near his house for a midnight snack. Ramen could hardly be called a snack, but Sokka could indulge in a few bowls of the delicious noodles all by himself. Besides, this small family-owned shop handmade all their own ramen noodles; the ingredients were always fresh and the people were always friendly. He felt like it was vastly underrated. He was far from being a food columnist, but he felt like he might actually do a piece on this place. Food photography was something he felt like he should have always ventured into but never got the chance too.

He had paid for more chashu; he couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Combined with the rich flavor of the hot soup and the crunch of the scallions and bamboo shoots, it was heaven on earth. Why did he ever desert this place?

It took him a good while to savor the heavenly flavor of the ramen before he noticed that Zuko seemed to be either really hungry, or equally impressed with the ramen as he was. He was already wolfing down his food, his bowl of shoyu ramen filled with nori and fried ginger. Sokka found it endearing how Zuko had left the ramen egg at the side, taking small bites of it in contrast to his huge gulps of soup so he could enjoy it longer.

“How’s the ramen?” Sokka asked, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Really good.” Zuko had to give it Sokka, he knew all the good food places.

Sokka chanced another glance out the window with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be out there stalking the Blue Spirit?” Zuko realized. “Shit, am I disturbing you?”

“First off, it’s not stalking,” Sokka blustered. “Secondly, I’ve been watching the street from here this whole time. Usually he’d pass through this area about half an hour ago, but he hasn’t shown up.”

“Ah,” Zuko said. It was true that he was supposed to pass through this area on his usual patrol route, but he had almost forgotten how detailed Sokka could be. It was frankly quite scary how Sokka had managed to map out his new patrol route in barely a week.

“Maybe he’s not back, after all,” Sokka said, his tone less disappointed and more contemplative.

“He’s probably just, taking a break or something,” Zuko suggested. “Maybe he got hungry and stopped for a snack break or something. Maybe he ran into an old friend. Maybe his mask fell off and he had to go home.” 

Well, all of the above was more likely than anyone would think.

Zuko wanted to laugh at the irony of it all.

Sokka made an amused face at the thought. It seemed to perk him up a little from the no-show of the Blue Spirit. The blog could wait. He was finally getting to spend some quality time with Zuko, and at the heart of it all that was what truly mattered.

“I’ve really missed this, you know?”

“Me too,” Zuko affirmed, flashing Sokka a heart-stopping smile. “Missed hearing your stupid voice nerding out over the Blue Spirit.”

He had to remind himself not to let his feelings take over. Sokka liked someone else. It wouldn’t be fair for him to impose his own feelings on him like that. It wouldn’t be fair at all. It would be selfish and intrusive, and he wanted to be anything but. He had spent so long trying to accept the fact that someone else was lucky enough to have caught Sokka’s eye in a romantic way, but he was living with it. He had to.

“Hey! It’s totally valid to be nerding over the Blue Spirit,” Sokka protested. “Besides, you were looking out for him too. What do you have to say about that?”

Zuko blanked. 

“Because I was thinking about you.”

Sokka mentally rebooted himself just so he could gape at Zuko like an idiot.

Now he was only more certain that he was going to spend the rest of his life pining after his stupid coworker.

“Look, not like that, I was just, _worried_ that your blog wasn’t getting that much traffic so I wanted to do something about it,” Zuko hurriedly covered. _Was his crush on Sokka really worth exposing just to cover his identity as the Blue Spirit_ ? _No, he couldn’t do that to Sokka. He couldn’t do that to himself either_.

“Hey, that’s actually really thoughtful of you.” Sokka leaned in closer, a playful grin sprouting on his face. “I didn’t know you cared about me.”

“In your dreams.” Zuko looked away, trying to hide the flush across his face.

 _Sokka likes someone else, Sokka likes someone else, Sokka likes someone else_.

Sokka was not making anything easier for him.

“Well, I care about you too, Zuko,” Sokka said, only half sarcastic. Then his voice simmered down into something more serious. “I’m for real, if you need to talk or anything I’ll always be here for you.”

“Thanks, Sokka.” Zuko found himself feeling warm and fuzzy inside at the idea. He liked that. He liked having Sokka around.

“Okay, but first answer me this,” Sokka said. “Do you think the Blue Spirit is a coffee or a tea kind of guy?”

Zuko’s eyebrow shot up involuntarily. 

“Definitely tea,” he answered. 

“Aw c’mon, was I the only one who thought he liked coffee?”

“Pretty much,” Zuko snorted, remembering his uncle’s little jab.

“I wonder how he’s been doing,” Sokka wondered aloud. “He’s been gone for a while too.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Zuko replied as he continued to polish up his ramen bowl.

“How do you know though?” Sokka asked. “I’m always wondering if he’s dying somewhere in a ditch or getting stabbed again or something.”

Zuko raised his other eyebrow at the word “again”. 

“The Blue Spirit is a person too,” Zuko explained, trying to sound as detached as possible. “He’s probably had to go deal with some personal problems too or something, especially after the whole...thing, with the kid.”

It was still kind of painful to mention it.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sokka rested his face on his hand. “Must’ve been really heavy. I can’t imagine the pain he must’ve been through.”

He had spent a while being bitter about the sudden disappearance of the vigilante, but when he really tried to puts things into perspective, he realized that maybe he was being an ass about it. The Blue Spirit wasn’t obligated to anything, least of all talking to Sokka. Hell, he didn’t even know who he was. 

_Yeah, I should know_ , Zuko thought bitterly. 

“Do you ever wonder who he is though?” Sokka’s voice dropped into a low, conspiratorial tone. “He’s probably not that old to be leaping around rooftops like that, but what do you think he does in the daytime? Sharpen his knives? Polish his mask? Do flying jump kicks? Scare people on the bus?”

Zuko snorted at the whole idea.

“You mean you don’t have a clue of who he is?”

He was treading in dangerous territory here.

“No, not really,” Sokka confessed. “I really want to find out though.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Well, it feels kind of wrong to invade on someone’s privacy like that,” Sokka said. The whole idea didn’t feel right now that he had had slightly personal run-ins with the vigilante. “I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like he trusts me.”

 _I do trust you_ , Zuko wanted to say. _I do trust you and it’s killing me to keep this from you_.

“I guess there’s some twisted part of me that wants to think I’m somehow connected to the Blue Spirit,” Sokka said. He’s never said that out loud before, not even to himself. “I just want to know if he’s doing okay.”

He stared at Zuko, a strangely heavy look in his eyes. Zuko found himself lost in those blue eyes again, finding himself feeling the pull closer and closer to Sokka. 

His heart did a thing.

And then his brain did a thing.

And then his mouth did a thing before his brain could do the thing to stop his heart from doing a thing.

“Sokka,” Zuko started, immediately regretting it. 

A flurry of confusing emotions was flitting across his face, as if he was trying to find the right words but there just weren’t any. Nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for this situation.

He couldn’t believe he was going to do this. He was really going to do this.

_Zuko was going to tell Sokka that he was the Blue Spirit._

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

Sokka’s eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline.

“Wait, me too,” he said, his voice coming out weirdly squeaky. 

_Was this really happening? What the fuck is going on?_ _Is Zuko going to somehow miraculously admit that he has had a crush on me this whole time or am I going insane_? _There was no way, no fucking way_. _Even so, he wouldn’t just confess right_? This was too coincidental.

The thought of it only made Sokka panic more. What if Zuko was going to say something horrible like maybe they shouldn’t be together anymore? _No_ , they weren’t even dating (yet). What if Zuko was going to say something horrible like maybe they shouldn’t be friends anymore? _No no no_ , _that can’t happen. No_ , Sokka wouldn’t allow it. 

Now he was just overthinking dangerously.

“Wait, really?” Zuko’s eyes widened. _What?_

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting to tell you this whole time,” Sokka admitted sheepishly.

 _Wait, wait, wait, hold up. Does he know I’m the Blue Spirit?_ Zuko was horrified. Had Sokka known this whole time? Had he just been making a fool of himself trying to cover it up with shitty excuses and poorly thought-up stories? Had Sokka just been trying to entertain his excuses?

“You first.” They said at the exact same time.

“Uh, well this is awkward,” Sokka stated.

“Yeah…” Zuko’s hand shot up to his neck, trying to cover up how red he was getting.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Sokka declared, his heart pounding in his ears. 

He could not believe he was doing this. He had waited too long to even be hesitating on this at all. He wasn’t going to let the moment slip away. Weeks of little sleep and long nights spent pining after this idiot had led up to this very moment, and by the gods was he going to say everything on his mind once and for all. If Zuko rejects him, so be it. He had to get it out there at least. He owed that much to himself and to Zuko.

Literally a thousand and one things could happen right now but Sokka was condensing it to two very obvious outcomes to stop his poor brain from exploding.

One, Zuko rejects him. The more likely outcome of the two. He would accept it gracefully, they would finish their meal in silence, then Sokka would go home and cry about it at night in his sleep. Then he would move on with his life, try to rebuild their friendship, and then everything would be fine. Or maybe Zuko would want nothing to do with him after tonight, but that was an option he didn’t even want to think about.

Two, Zuko accepts his feelings. Then they start dating. Highly unlikely, but the most ideal situation. Sokka would pour upon him love and affection and he would get to start teasing Zuko every single day about it. This scenario induces a very warm feeling inside him that he would like to prolong, so if there even a slight chance that this could happen, Sokka was damn well going to take it.

It was a necessary risk, and one he was happy to finally have the chance to take.

“Zuko, I have been in lo-”

A piercing ring sounded throughout the shop.

“Sorry, that’s my phone,” Zuko hurried, flashing Sokka an extremely apologetic look. He fished his phone out of his bag, looking through the sudden bunch of notifications that had appeared on the lockscreen; a growing horror in his eyes.

“What’s happening?”

“I am so, so sorry,” Zuko genuinely sounded like he wanted to die. “Sokka, I have to go.”

“Now?! Like now, now?”

“Yeah, I’m really really sorry.”

Before Sokka could even come up with a response, Zuko had already rushed out the doors with his backpack, a black figure vanishing into the night. 

There was no hiding it: Zuko was gone.

He didn’t even pay Sokka back for the ramen.

There was no god in the world who loved Sokka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely am sorry (or am I?) if you thought they were going to finally confess their undying love to each other. I am still stirring the pot over a slow fire, but don't you worry, we'll get there eventually and the soup will be delicious and heartwarming.
> 
> but in meantime, have this super long chapter. 
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	17. ocean of thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sokka has a heart-to-heart with...the Blue Spirit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, my dear sweet Sokka. If only you knew

Look, he didn’t mean to really. 

Yet somehow Sokka found himself parked on the edge of a rooftop at 11p.m. with nothing but a few sandwiches and a camera. 

He didn’t know how he ended up here, really. It wasn’t even his own apartment block, just some random one downtown with an open staircase to the roof and creaky paper-thin walls. Seriously, he could hear every little movement from inside the houses when someone talked or turned on the television on his way up. At least the rooftop proved to be much quieter than the commotion inside the staircase. It overlooked a little road and a cluster of short buildings where not much was going on. It was quiet and secluded and almost perfect for a little sitdown. 

He had been on the lookout for the Blue Spirit again, one of those lonely nights where it was just him and his camera. Usually all the running and the cutting across alleys and roads had him pumping with adrenaline and exhausted out of his wits, but he hadn’t been able to find any trace of the masked vigilante, so he came up here instead to think. He needed some time to himself to really digest what had been going on in the past few days.

_ Is this what the Blue Spirit sees all the time _ ? Sokka wondered to himself. The city was beautiful from up here. Everything looked so small and so far away. The light from the skyscrapers were only distant dots on a deep blue nightscape, pinpricks of civilization that felt like a different world from the quiet of the suburbs. 

If this was what the Blue Spirit saw all the time, maybe he should’ve tried this whole Blue Spirit brooding thing much earlier on.

Sokka unwrapped the sandwiches from the little blue lunchbox. Could anyone blame him for getting so hungry on nights out like this? He did do a lot of moving around and thinking on his feet after all. Can’t blame a man for needing his sustenance. He thanked the local diner gods that they stocked cold, fresh sandwiches this late into the night.

The crisp night air set the gears of Sokka’s mind into motion. They turned and they turned, flipping through all his memories of the previous weeks’ events, tasting and sampling and spitting it out and swallowing it again. So much had happened in the last couple of weeks, yet it felt like no time had passed at all. Maybe he was stuck in some kind of crazy time loop where the sandwiches were great and his current relationship with the guy he liked was not. 

Zuko had been hanging from his brain since, forever. He couldn’t stop thinking about the dude, like it was a memory that plagued him in both his waking days and his sleeping nights. It was wake up, Zuko. Brush teeth, Zuko. Eat breakfast, Zuko. Drink coffee, Zuko. Step into the office, Zuko. Write an article, Zuko. Pitch the article, Zuko. Pack up, Zuko. Go home, Zuko. It was driving him mad. It wasn’t so much Zuko that was driving him mad, but the lack of Zuko in his life that was. 

Zuko still hadn’t stepped into the office, and Sokka felt slightly more relieved knowing that he hadn’t fled the country or died from a lack of proper nutrition somewhere. Family problems. Zuko simply had family problems. There must be some sort of explanation for this. Zuko couldn’t really be avoiding Sokka intentionally, could he? Even then, Sokka wanted to believe that he had a good reason for that. He had been waiting and waiting for the day that Zuko would come back and tell him that reason and then everything would make sense and everything would be okay again.

Why did he feel like he was too late? 

Sokka’s shoulders slumped.

_ What if Zuko’s never coming back? _

He shuddered at both the thought of it, and the sudden breeze that kicked up across the rooftop, the sound of his bag buckles dragging across brick. There was no one up here but him and the wind.

He was truly alone now.

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there. It was only when his vision started to blur and he brushed his hand over his cheek that he knew it was far too long to have been sensible. It came away hot and wet, and he didn’t like it at all.

Sokka didn’t like crying.

Sokka didn’t like crying alone on a rooftop in the middle of nowhere.

Sokka didn’t like the feeling of falling further into that dark abyss somewhere at the bottom of his heart that he had been to that many times. He didn’t like how raw his throat felt, the ugly gurgling feeling rising up at the back like everything he had been holding back for weeks was going to spill over and burst. He didn’t like how shaky his breathing had become, how tight his chest felt, like his heart had stopped and there wasn’t anything that could start it again. He didn’t like how small he felt, how he wanted to curl up into a ball and hug himself until everything stopped being so goddamn  _ painful _ .

Desperate for a way out, he thought about all the times he had found himself in a dark place. What had got him through all those bad times? What had been the thing that pushed him onwards with straightened shoulders and renewed hope? What had picked him off the floor and kept his days rolling until everything started to work out?

_ Trust _ . Sokka needed to trust. He needed to trust that the future would come and he wouldn’t feel as down tomorrow as he did today, or yesterday. He needed to trust Zuko, trust that he would come back to Sokka and give him another chance to be open about his feelings. He needed to trust his own feelings. He needed to trust that everything would eventually work itself out and he just needed to have faith. 

Now his eyes felt far too dry at the edges as he smeared his face on his sleeve. He blinked a few times, shoving all his emotions somewhere deep down with a few sniffles. Only now was he seeing how absolutely ridiculous this whole situation was. He was on a  _ rooftop _ . He was crying on a rooftop. Above the city. With sandwiches. It was  _ ridiculous _ , and somehow that made him feel a little better, even though it made no sense.

Maye he would sit here a bit longer. He may not be cut out for the brooding life, but at least he could finish his sandwiches in peace.

Unfortunately, he had spoken too soon.

By the time Sokka even had time to react to the noise behind him, he found himself face to face with the Blue Spirit. 

“It’s you,” Sokka breathed out, not quite trusting his eyes. 

The Blue Spirit tilted his head, as if in confusion.

“Of course it’s you,” Sokka laughed, a little hysterically. He was borderline about to lose his mind. _ Could this night get any more ridiculous? _

“Are you in danger?”

“What? No.”

Sokka’s earlier upset was quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of confusion. Why is that when he tries to find the Blue Spirit he never shows up, but when he’s trying to be alone the vigilante just mysteriously appears? 

He hadn’t heard that gravelly, slightly muffed voice since the fateful day the vigilante had popped up in his living room on the verge death. What a nice change of pace that they were finally seeing each other again somewhere nice and high up, without the threat of someone dying looming on the horizon. Not to mention a nice view of the city to boot.

“Then...what you doing up here?”

“Eating.” Sokka held out his sandwiches. “Do you want a sandwich?”

“Uh, I’m good,” the vigilante murmured.

“Right,” Sokka realized. “The mask.”

“Were you crying?” 

Sokka nearly spit out his bite of sandwich.

“What? No!” He burst out, a little too defensively. Even then, his hand subconsciously shot up to his face, trying to feel for any signs of his little breakdown still left behind. His face was still a little damp, but he assumed that one wouldn’t be able to see it in the darkness, unless the Blue Spirit was truly some sort of urban legend with strange powers, a theory he had always kept at the back of his mind. “How long have you been stalking me?”

“How ironic that I should be the one stalking you,” the vigilante mused. Sokka swore he could hear the amusement dripping from his low voice. 

“Okay, okay I get it.” Sokka threw his hands up in a dismissive gesture. “But it’s all in the name of good journalism, okay?”

“Keep telling yourself that,” the vigilante said, jokingly.

“Why did you even confront me if you’re just going to stand there making fun of my blog?” Sokka bit into a sandwich a little angrily, much to the Blue Spirit’s amusement.

“How could I not investigate when I saw you sitting up here?” The Blue Spirit said, almost playfully, much to Sokka’s inherent disbelief. “Rooftops are supposed to be my spot.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m didn’t know you owned every single rooftop in the city,” Sokka returned easily.

He was falling back into a comfortable rhythm of sarcasm and dry humor, one that he was unnervingly familiar with. It was weird to know that The Blue Spirit had a sense of humor, much less shared a similar sense of verbal calibre with himself, but there was a person behind the mask after all.

“Well, do you want to talk about it?”

Sokka wanted to say no. In fact, it would be the most logical thing to do. Any logical person would know not to share private information with a stranger, but well, since when was he logical anyway?

“I was trying to brood alone,” Sokka grumbled.

“ _ Brood _ ? You?” The Blue Spirit said, in half part amusement and half part disbelief.

“Why? Why can’t I brood? What’s wrong with me brooding?”

“Nothing, it’s just weird to hear that from...a civilian like you,” the Blue Spirit hurriedly admitted. “Brooding’s a supervillain thing, or a superhero thing.”

“Hey, everyone needs a good brood sometimes,” Sokka huffed. “I’m pretty sure a nice masked guy like yourself broods every full moon or something.”

“Can’t disagree with that,” the vigilante said drily, eliciting a weak laugh from Sokka.

“Well, it’s nice up here,” Sokka said.

The clouds in the sky were starting to shift, revealing the waning moon standing out starkly in the deep blue sky. There were no stars out tonight, but the glow of the moon was more than enough to illuminate the harsh lines of the mask. Even though he could only see the vigilante’s side profile, he could see a sliver of pale, exposed skin and tufts of dark hair sticking out from behind the mask. It only reminded him further that there was an actual person behind it, an actual living breathing human being; the Blue Spirit was not just some rooftop-running, building-jumping, people-saving urban myth.

“What do you brood about?” The question sounded like, well, an actual question, rather than a jab or an attempt at making conversation through the unusual silence that had fell betwee them.

“People,” Sokka said. “The past.”

The Blue Spirit waited for him to continue.

“I always have the shittest luck with relationships.”

The Blue Spirit mulled in silence for a second, as if searching for the most appropriate response that a mask-toting vigilante could offer a regular civilian stalker fo rnow.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka turned to look at him with a raised brow. He pointedly decided to ignore that response.

“Well, I’m up here because I made a mistake.”

“Well, why do you think I’m always up here?” the vigilante asked in a way that Sokka couldn’t even discern if it was meant to be a joke or not. “I screw up a lot.”

“You do? That’s surprising,” Sokka didn’t even know if he was being sarcastic anymore.

“Yeah,” the vigilante said, casting a distant gaze onto the city. “And for the longest time I was stuck, feeling like I can’t move forward.”

_ When did this turn into impromptu therapy _ ? Sokka wondered. Not that he was complaining or anything. There were few things more sobering than confessing one’s life story to an utter stranger in the middle of the night on a rooftop, if he had to say so himself.

“Is that why you were missing in action?”

“Yeah.” The vigilante didn’t sound too happy about it.

“Well, you’re not the only one who’s been out of it,” Sokka said. “I’ve been stuck too. It’s like my life is not going anywhere.”

“I know the feeling,” the vigilante replied.  _ All too well _ .

“It’s like I had this whole thing going for me you know,” Sokka continued. He was too far gone into his oversharing to back out now. “A whole life laid out ahead of me, and then things start going to shit and I have no idea how to move on.”

The vigilante turned to look at him behind the still, impassive eyes of a mask.

Sokka could not see what he was thinking or feeling on his face, so he had to guess.

“Someone once told me that if you ever get stuck on your path, keep moving,” the vigilante said. “If your path is dark, there’s no point waiting around for the sun to come up and lead the way, because by the time you start moving the night will come again, and you’ll be back where you got stuck at.”

“Damn, I always thought you were a vigilante, not a philosopher.”

“Maybe you need to keep walking and find a new path.” The vigilante shrugged, ignoring Sokka’s little jab. “Keep living life you know, keep going until you find what you want.”

“Hey, maybe I do need to do just that,” Sokka thought aloud. Call him crazy for taking advice from someone behind a mask, but maybe it was his way out. 

What did he want? Well, he wanted a lot of things. He wanted his job, he wanted to make it big in the photojournalism industry, he wanted to experience all the pleasures that life had to offer. He wanted to travel the world, he wanted to explore the city, he wanted to find a home. He wanted to climb mountains and go skydiving and jump off cliffs and photograph coral reefs and swim with the sharks. He wanted to do everything that a human being could ever do. And most of all, he wanted to do it all with Zuko.

Many people had told him that his dreams were too big, his ambition too wild. They said he was never going to do even a fraction of what he had always wanted to achieve in life. But that’s the funny thing about hope, it gives you wings when life pins you to the ground. And Sokka? He wanted to soar. He wanted to do it all. And by the gods was he going to keep hoping and wanting and dreaming as long he was alive.

“Even moonlight can lead the way in the dark,” the vigilante said to no one in particular.

“Moonlight, huh? Reminds me of an ex I had,” Sokka said, thinking back.

“An ex?”

“Yeah, she was obsessed with the moon. Said it was her life’s dream to go to there someday,” Sokka snorted. “Wonder if she ever made it there.”

“Hrm,” the vigilante grunted. “You never know.”

“It’s funny how relationships go,” Sokka mused. “You fall in love, maybe they fall in love, maybe you get something out of it, but then they all just, leave in the end you know?”

The vigilante stared at him.

“But that’s the funny thing about it,” Sokka continued. “Even if the people leave, the feelings kind of never die, do they? Love will never die and all that.”

“Do you love someone?”

Sokka needed to practise some self-restraint, but his mind was too far gone on the insanity of the night so far that he could not be arsed to give a shit.

“Remember that friend I told you about? The one I like?” Sokka said.

The vigilante stiffened up a little. 

“They’re all I can think about now and it’s killing me slowly.”

He figured it wouldn’t hurt anyone. The Blue Spirit could not possibly know who he was talking about. He had to let himself be vulnerable just this once, even if it was the only time he got to vulnerable about it in his entire lifetime. Kind of ironic since he was trying to open and honest to a guy in a mask, but that was his life now apparently.

“I don’t want to admit it,” Sokka confessed. “But I think I’m falling in love with them.”

The vigilante had fully stiffened up now.

Sokka didn’t seem to notice the sudden shift in atmosphere. 

“You know when you feel like a crush is more than a crush, and there’s that moment when you realize oh shit, I’m in love with them?” he continued talking. “Well, I thought it was bullshit but I’m really falling down that hole now, it’s kinda pathetic.”

Sokka sighed, looking out over the city.

The moon was only getting brighter as the night progressed, dipping the entire cityscape in a light sheen of warm white. It was a reminder of how small he was in the world, how small everyone was. Everyone was just a person trying to find their way in this big, big universe, and maybe they would find it, maybe they won’t. That was the game of life, and it was a game that anybody and everybody could play. Whether they win or lose — that’s up to them.

And him? He was just trying to find love. And he did. Now, if only he could do something about it.

If only it was Zuko sitting next to him and not the Blue-

-Spirit?

Sokka whirled around.

There was no sign of the masked vigilante beside him, behind him, around him; the entire small rooftop was empty. There was not even a shadow or a figure or a blur of motion. It was like the Blue Spirit was a ghost, here one second and gone the next. He didn’t even say goodbye. Not even a trace. No clue that he was here. 

Maybe Sokka had just hallucinated the Blue Spirit this whole time. Maybe that’s why he felt so comfortable sharing practically his life story with nothing but a projection of his subconscious. Maybe he really was going insane. He wouldn’t put it past himself, with the level of mental exhaustion he had been putting himself through the past few weeks. 

Sokka sighed, a little more resignedly this time, picking up the empty sandwich box.

They all leave in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all of you for your beautiful comments, it's really been kicking my writing engine up to a high notch. Even if I don't reply, I still read every single one in great detail and make weird noises over it. I'm also really curious how you stumbled upon this fic. Did someone rec it? Did you search for it? Did ao3 just spit it onto your doorstep and you thought hey why not?
> 
> I also really enjoy this particular writing style of mine that I used for this fic, there's a really easy sort of flow to the way I write this story and it makes me feel like I'm coming home to a world that I never knew I needed, and all of you has helped it along in your own ways. So in a way, we're all shaping this story I suppose, and that's a fun little tidbit for ya, because what's a story when there's no one to read it right?
> 
> Anyway, here's a mainly angsty chapter because damn, it's not an emptyheadspace story without a hearty dosing of angst. But chin up guys, everything's going to slowly get better soon. I'm not completely cruel, after all. 
> 
> (also, do not worry, I will cover the reason why Zuko left that ramen shop so abruptly in the next chapter. I'm not gonna leave such a raw plothole dangling like that.)
> 
> One last message: I'm looking into doing one or two spinoff series connected to this and I have three ideas so far, I'm gonna link this post right [here](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/post/622994052118462464/who-is-the-blue-spirit-spinoff-series-ideas) but I don't know if I'm going to actually do it yet. We shall See I suppose.
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	18. indigo heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the Blue Spirit pays Sokka one last visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys the reason zuko doesn’t get that Sokka is talking about him is because he doesn’t think Sokka considers him a friend after everything he’s done

Zuko swore he hadn’t meant to end up here.

But by the time he was leaping over rooftop after rooftop, clearing the quiet streets quickly with a heavy squeezing in his chest, he was already too overwhelmed by his whirlwind of thoughts to even think about turning back. 

It was like the sky above had gone a little bit blacker, no longer the comforting deep blue the night usually was. The moon peeking through the slightly dark clouds overhead felt weaker, like a little touch of light that couldn’t fight past the darkness of his days. The sounds of the bustling traffic in the city center sounded far away, the lights fading into a blur of motion that surrounded him — distant and weak.

Usually he found comfort in the cover of night, a time where everyone was in their own worlds and he could move around without feeling like all eyes were on him. He liked the peace, the quietness, the serene. Everything wasn’t so noisy and he could take it easy, tackle things one by one under the dark.

But tonight he just felt lonely. 

His thoughts were getting too loud.

For the world, maybe it was just another day ending. A regular old night where nothing special was happening. Maybe it was a night where everyone had gone to work and went home and talked to their loved ones and went on with their lives. Maybe it was a night just like that.

But for Zuko, it wasn’t just any other night.

_It was the night he finally moved on._

It was time to accept that certain things in the universe were just truths and he couldn’t change anything about them. Things like how he would never come to like black coffee. Things like how his pantry may never see past the familiar red and yellow packaging of spicy instant ramen noodles. Things like how he would never understand rising early in the morning or falling asleep before midnight.

Things like how Sokka loved someone else.

Zuko had thought (hoped, maybe) that he could just keep this little crush covered up, a little secret for himself that kept his face flushed and his heart thumping whenever he was around Sokka. It wouldn’t hurt anyone but himself, to keep on at life like this, a foolish little spark of longing that could bloom into something more one day; if the universe were to be so kind. It kept his days interesting, it kept him up and at it in the morning, rushing to the office and pretending like he hadn’t just spent a whole hour getting ready in the morning in the hopes that Sokka was staring at him too.

But alas, love was a different story — serious and heavy.

Sokka had admitted that he was in _love_. 

Zuko was there, he had heard it clear as day. It was hardly the confession he had been hoping for, no. He was almost delirious at this rate, unsure whether to be relieved to be spared of his seemingly endless uncertainty, or devastated that a part of his life was cut short. 

Sokka deserved better than that. He deserved to be able to express his feelings outwardly without having Zuko dragging him down with the burden of unrequited love staining their conversations. It wasn’t fair for Sokka to feel the need to pity Zuko or anything of the sort, or even to feel pressured into returning feelings that he may never feel, or only humoring him because Zuko had no one else.

At the very least, Zuko had hoped to be a friend. A friend who was there for Sokka, a friend who wasn’t running off with shitty excuses and being absent in his life for god knows how long. Not that he was vastly experienced when it came to maintaining friendships, but this was the one that really mattered to him. He wanted to do his best to keep up his side of this unexpected friendship, one that he would’ve never seen coming half a year ago, but goddamn was he in deep.

He thought he could try to be a good friend.

Yet he couldn’t even pay Sokka back for ramen.

He didn’t know if he had made the wrong decision to rush off that night. It was a moment of hasty panic and quick acting, one where he decided to follow his instincts and take the cue. A shipment was already on the way to Ares Nightclub by the time he was grabbing his bag and jumping over the tables in that small ramen shop. He needed to find out. It was his first lead in weeks, and even he couldn’t abandon that.

But it had turned up nothing. There was nothing in that damned truck, Zuko made sure to check. He had been left standing there in the night air, a damning realization striking him when he thought about Sokka back in the ramen shop, probably worried sick about where he was. 

He should’ve turned back.

He should’ve offered an explanation.

He should’ve called, texted, _no_ , he should’ve apologized in person.

But he didn’t have the courage to.

 _God_ , he couldn’t even muster up the courage to go back to work.

He had never felt so small with the mask on before. 

Why was he so afraid? Was it because it was too late for him to confess, too late for him to maintain the friendship without it hurting him deeper? He didn’t want to lose Sokka, god no. But he was so, so damn afraid that once he went back, he could never turn away, never move on, never get anything done because he was so hung up over one Sokka. 

It was ridiculous how much he had fallen.

Why did he have to go and fall into this deep pit and catch feelings for Sokka? What happened to their comfortable animosity? The familiar trade of sarcasm and dry humor, the very beginning where they could hate each other’s guts and life felt normal? Those days weren’t the best yet, but at least they weren’t colored with an undertone of pain and fear.

Maybe it was best if he just left. 

Sokka will always have other friends, but Zuko couldn’t really say the same, could he?

It was enough for him if Sokka got to be happy.

It was enough for him if Sokka got to be with someone who made him happy.

Zuko only made him more worried and concerned.

Swimming in a sea of thoughts, he barely remembered how he even ended up here, the blur of concrete and buildings flying past as his heavy heart pounded in his ears. It was just the sudden rage of emotion and the darkness of the night flashing around him as he hurtled through the buildings, flying past empty shop fronts and dormant homes. It wasn’t a path he usually took, but it was one that he recognized nonetheless. The landmarks were already marking themselves out in his mind, his body moving so fast that his brain couldn’t even begin to tell him to stop. 

Before he knew it, he had found himself swinging down onto a barely sturdy awning, facing a familiar squat red brick building.

Right there across the street sat a small balcony with a table.

The only source of light that Zuko could see from here.

He had no right to be here. No right to be trying to see in between the billowing curtains into a living room that he had only been in a few times. He wondered if he looked long enough, would he be able to see a lone figure tacking up a crime board or reading a book? Would he be able to catch one last glimpse of a certain someone?

A certain someone who probably didn’t want to see him at all.

 _One last time_ , he told himself. _One last time_.

There was something strange about tonight.

Sokka had no idea what exactly it was, but everything felt _different_ somehow. There was something alight in the air, like there was something out there lying in wait ready to pounce. It was like the calm before the storm; an eerie feeling of peace that was so charged up with suspense. He was unusually calm, his head finally finding a brief respite from the thunderstorm of thoughts that had been clouding his mind these past weeks.

It was a weird feeling, being this calm.

The night was too quiet.

He tried to busy himself with mundane tasks like cooking a meal, washing the dishes, even firing up the noisy old vacuum cleaner that choked on the closest pile of dust. He walked around his house, passing through the living room and the kitchen twice. He put on jazz music and bopped his head to the beat, trying to get some work done.

But no matter how normal he tried to act, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that he was being _watched_.

The clock chimed ten.

Sokka got up to go to the bathroom.

It was a while before he came back, but when he did, something was amiss.

_The balcony doors were open._

He could’ve sworn he closed them.

Sokka stood rooted to the spot in front of the bathroom from afar, wondering if he should go over and check. Now, he wasn’t that avid a watcher of horror movies, but he had watched enough cheesy home haunting plots for his imagination to be running wild right now. This was always how those stupid horror movie protagonists died. 

The doors were fucking open.

He was desperately racking his mind trying to remember if he had just forgotten to close them or something.

Everything else seemed normal. The ceiling fan was still spinning lazily. The pile of work assignments were still sitting where he left them on the coffee table. The lights were still bright as ever overhead.

Sokka sighed. Maybe he was just being silly.

He walked over, preparing to close the doors and lock them for good.

“Hey.”

Sokka screamed. 

“Geez! Don’t go around scaring a guy like that,” Sokka yelped, turning around to face an all-too-familiar masked figure. He would’ve been mortified if his heart wasn’t screaming along with him too. “Maybe learn to knock next time round.”

“Sorry.”

The vigilante stood unmoving, continuing to stare almost a little too intensely.

“It’s fine.” Sokka breathed out, trying to calm his heart. “Just startled me, that’s all.”

The vigilante didn’t break any eye contact, as far as eye contact could go from behind the mask. Even with the blank white eyes staring back at him, Sokka could tell that there was something the man wanted to say.

“Were you outside watching?”

Weirdly phrased, but Sokka couldn’t exactly take it back.

The vigilante nodded so slightly that Sokka might’ve missed it if he wasn’t staring back.

“Ironic how you’re the one stalking me now, huh?”

The vigilante didn’t laugh at this poor attempt at humor. 

“Well, are you okay?” Sokka ventured, trying to break the sudden silence.

The vigilante didn’t look hurt or anything like that. No bleeding, no torn clothing, no broken anything. What could have warranted such a sudden visit?

The vigilante nodded.

“...Do you need help?”

Maybe there was some hidden distress that he had missed.

The vigilante shook his head, remaining uncannily still.

“Then what’s up, why are you here?” Sokka asked, slightly concerned now.

The vigilante was still staring.

Sokka stared back.

Was he waiting for something?

None of them said anything for what felt like a whole eternity.

The clock ticked in the back.

Just when Sokka was about to speak, the vigilante leapt into action and darted across the room.

In one swift motion, the room was plunged into sudden darkness.

 _He turned off the lights_??

“Hey! What are you—”

He was cut off before he could finish his sentence.

Now, there are many things that Sokka would say he was very prepared for in life.

Things like taking an umbrella with him when it rained, or bringing a jacket to the office for when it was cold. Things like packing extra change for if he needed to hit up a vending machine on the streets for a drink, or even extra tissue packets for when he got sniffles. Things like tucking the key inside the boots outside for if he was too drunk on vodka shots at improv night down by the local bar to figure out where his keyring was so he could get inside his own house anyway.

He was always analyzing every situation, figuring out what on earth could go wrong or go right or even just go. Rarely was he ever surprised, given his habit of always preparing himself for every single way a situation could pan out. 

But this.

Sokka would never have been prepared for this.

He would never have been prepared for this even if the gods descended from the sky and bestowed him the gift of foresight; even if he could read the future, divine it in the stars, discovered it in a dream. Never. 

No, he would never be prepared for the day that the Blue Spirit _kissed him_.

If it was possible, time would have stopped there and then.

Sokka didn’t know what was more shocking: that the vigilante had been the one to initiate it, or that he was kissing the vigilante back. 

His heart was pounding in his ears and all he could feel was the press of warm lips up against his, drowning out all logical thought in his brain as he leaned into the kiss. Shock was quickly replaced by a growing desperation as his hands shot up to the vigilante’s face, finding exposed skin and the curve of a neck where the vigilante had lifted his mask.

The thought that the vigilante would even risk Sokka finding out who he just for a kiss stirred a wave of heat up in Sokka’s chest.

How long had the vigilante wanted this? 

_How long had Sokka wanted this_?

The kiss deepened as Sokka pulled him closer, his hands cradling the vigilante’s jaw as he pressed up against him. He was barely aware of the vigilante’s hands gripping onto his shirt, balling the fabric into his fists as he grew more insistent, chasing the kiss with an intensity that Sokka was willing to match. There was something so needy about the touch, the taste, the heat; a burning ease in the way they moved against each other, fuelling the building flame of desire.

Was this a dream?

There was an urgency in the way the vigilante tried to take in all of him, like he couldn’t let go of Sokka, couldn’t get enough of him. It was as if he was doing something he could get caught for, something that he had risked too much to obtain and now he was too afraid that it would slip away all too soon. 

And maybe it did slip away all too soon.

It was only a few moments, maybe a minute at most, but Sokka felt like it might have been an eternity for his flaming heart. 

The vigilante was the first one to break away.

“ _Goodbye, Sokka_.”

The mask went back on but the lights did not.

The vigilante was already gone by the time the words hit Sokka, barely a whisper in the night. He was left standing in the dark, watching the curtains billowing in the night wind with his jaw hanging open. The balcony doors were still very much open, the only evidence besides the warmth left on his lips and the thudding in his chest that the vigilante had actually been here with him. Had actually _kissed_ him.

It took a whole moment for Sokka to even start moving, rushing out onto the balcony and crashing his shin into the little table outside as he whirled wildly around, searching in the night.

The vigilante was nowhere to be found.

Sokka felt the overwhelming need to sit down.

It was barely a whisper, but he had heard it loud and clear. The words were still ringing around in his head, in the same low and rough voice. Without the mask, the vigilante’s voice was clearer, exposing the slight catch in his voice that didn’t go unmissed.

For you see, Sokka was certain that he wasn’t hearing things.

It was the voice that haunted his waking days and the voice that haunted his dreams. It was the voice that greeted him when he stepped into the office, and the voice that returned his witty cracks and quick insults when he needed a conversation starter. It was the voice that he had so hated at the start, but then really grew to love.

Sokka knew that voice anywhere.

“ _Zuko_.”

He had heard it. He had really heard it.

_Zuko is the Blue Spirit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can’t tell me zuko wasn’t already crying behind the mask when sokka was asking him if he was okay  
> my dude was really just gearing himself up to get betrayed by his gay brain when he stood in that damn living room
> 
> look, we know zuko has a crippling inability to be selfish, but when you're about to leave and tear away from a person that you've built a whole life together with in your head, let's allow him to be selfish just this once. Just for one last time.
> 
> but don't you worry, things will pan out, although hardly anything is ever easy. But for now since Sokka is in custody of their shared brain cell we have to wait
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	19. eye of the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sokka makes a shocking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zuko: [risks entire double life just to kiss sokka]  
> sokka: does this mean he likes me back???

Needless to say, Sokka did not get much sleep that night.

He rushed all the way to the office the next morning, an uneasy ache in his chest.

 _Goodbye, Sokka_.

Zuko said goodbye.

Sokka didn’t even want to begin wondering what he meant by that.

When he stepped through the doors, he wasn’t at all surprised by the empty desk where Zuko was supposed to be. Of course he wouldn’t be in the office. What _had_ surprised him was the heavy buzzing around the office. Everyone was shooting weird looks and hushed glances his way, and there was something different about the air. Everything felt... _heavier_. Emptier. 

Something was horribly wrong.

“What’s going on?” He turned to the nearest coworker, some guy who was seated at the corner and always sniffling under the cold blast of air from the vents. 

“You...haven’t heard?”

“Would I be asking if I did?” Sokka almost snapped.

“Uh…” The man pulled back, clearly not wanting to be the one to break the news.

“What? Tell me what’s happening.” Sokka’s frown only deepened.

The man whirled around, looking around desperately at his coworkers for help.

Nobody responded. 

The air hung heavy and still as the whole room held its breath.

“Just tell me what happened,” Sokka insisted.

“Zuko quit,” the man said quietly.

If it was possible, the room fell into an even deeper moment of silence.

“Zuko did _what_?”

The whole office was staring now.

“He quit…”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” Sokka released him from his iron grip.

“Are you okay?” Another coworker closed in, placing a hand on Sokka’s shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sokka’s face definitely said otherwise.

He wouldn’t be surprised if the whole office had just assumed that they were already dating. Maybe he should just let himself be visibly upset over it and let them further confirm their suspicions. They definitely weren’t dating, but it’s a little selfish gesture that Sokka desperately wanted to feel at the moment. 

Zuko quit. _Zuko actually quit his job_.

Of all the things that could’ve escalated his predicament, Sokka had not been expecting this particular one.

Zuko had always been dedicated to his work. He was always punctual and ready to attack all the reports and assignments he had piled up on his desk. He was always professional and polite to both his coworkers and his superiors and everyone had always found him a good addition to the office. He was so passionate and committed and knowledgeable about everything that he did here that even Sokka had to admit that only after his first week of trying to find faults in Zuko’s work ethic.

And now he had just _quit_?

How was he supposed to have his long overdue confrontation with the guy and then have a heart-to-heart only to end up making out in the middle of the office?

He chuckled a little, remembering the sheer, unfounded hate he had for his new colleague.

Look where he was right now.

This was the same Zuko who overworked himself until he passed out on his desk in the office only for Sokka to come back and scold him. The same Zuko who attended all the police press events and court hearings religiously just to get an edge in ahead of the other papers who were covering the same lead. The same Zuko who was so attached to his work desk that if he had announced their early engagement for the summer, Sokka wouldn’t even be surprised anymore.

That same Zuko had quit his job.

And that same Zuko was the Blue Spirit.

Nothing made sense in the world any more. 

Well, some things were starting to make sense at least.

It would explain why Zuko was so weirdly interested in his blog, despite his initial reservations. Reservations that probably stemmed from the fact that Zuko probably didn’t want a whole photojournalist poking around in his other life. No wonder Zuko had discouraged his blog idea in the first place. Of course Zuko didn’t want to attract too much attention to himself. Thinking back, Sokka found it quite stupid how he hadn’t already connected the dots when Zuko had debunked all his ridiculous theories with ease. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see it when he saw Zuko lurking about in that alleyway that one night. 

Ah, this was how love made people so blind.

Sokka shuddered when he remembered all the times he had come face to face with the vigilante. 

That was fucking _Zuko_ bleeding out on his couch that night. It was Zuko he had watched go through all that pain and exhaustion. He could’ve lost his best friend _and_ the love of his life that one damn night and he wouldn’t even have known until it was too late. He could’ve been the one who wasn’t able to save that idiot, and he didn’t know how he could’ve lived with that if they hadn’t both made it out alive that night. 

It was kind of funny how ironic the situation was. All along he had been concerned about what Zuko might think of his foolish trust in helping the vigilante when it had been him all along. What Zuko might say once he heard that Sokka had let the vigilante sleep over. It was strangely hilarious now that Sokka could merge the two things that have been occupying his life into one huge major mind-wracking problem.

_He had been chasing after Zuko all along._

Zuko. White dress shirts and red bomber jackets Zuko. Hates black coffee and lives off instant ramen Zuko. Resting bitch face Zuko. That Zuko. 

That Zuko was the Blue Spirit.

It was a whole journey coming to terms with it.

Wait.

He _kissed_ Zuko. 

No, _Zuko_ kissed him.

Sokka swore he could still feel the ghost of warmth on his lips, the close proximity of their bodies pressed against each other, the swirling desperation as the Blue Spirit, _Zuko_ , had pulled him even closer, like he couldn’t get enough of the feeling.

Zuko had risked his entire identity just to kiss Sokka.

Obviously, this was not how he was expecting their first kiss to go.

Does this mean Zuko returned his feelings? Had he liked him back all along? Had he been all worried for nothing?

Sokka wanted to tear his hair out. There were just too many questions and the answers he was looking for were nowhere in sight. 

Why didn’t Zuko come back to face him? What was he missing? Why did Zuko kiss him if he was just going to leave like that?

Sokka tried to take his mind off it, just enough for him to get through _one_ goddamn day of work. Just enough for him to actually make it through the pile of assignments his desk had accumulated from all those days of staring across at the empty desk with hope and longing and none of the productivity he was supposed to have.

Unfortunately, the world wasn’t so kind.

“I’ve heard of your blog,” his boss had said, approaching him the moment he sat down to try to force all the questions to the back of his mind. She made no mention of the very distinct lack of Zuko in the office. Didn’t even cast a glance in the direction of his empty desk. “The one about the vigilante.”

Sokka had fixed her a look.

“Our crime reporter has deserted us,” she added, with as much tact as a stapler. “We need you to take on the job until we can find a substitute.”

“Why me?” 

“You’re the only one fit for the role. You have experience.”

 _You were close to him_ , she didn’t say.

Sokka didn’t want to argue with that.

As much as it stung knowing that not only was Zuko not around, Sokka knew he had to accept. The paper was going to lose readers without a well-written section of crime.

He crossed the office to the desk.

This was Zuko’s chair, and now he was sitting in it.

He sighed and pulled out every single drawer in the small plastic organizer. Might as well get started to take his mind off the whole ordeal, even if every single bit of it reminded him about Zuko. Sokka was pretty familiar with the job scope, probably from all his time hanging around him, and although his role in the paper was to cover lighter topics, he had no personal objection to handling the heavy subject matter that Zuko often put himself through. He had gotten much more accustomed to what was happening around the city from his nightly adventures chasing after a certain masked vigilante.

Yet he could only imagine the things Zuko had seen from behind the mask. Even though the Blue Spirit started out by foiling many petty crime cases, there was a danger that only Zuko could know. There had been more than a few casualties. And one death. 

Sokka paled. He should’ve known that Zuko wasn’t just being dismissive when he steered away from the topic. He had been there. He had witnessed it. He saw that kid die. He was trying to save him.

He hoped that Zuko was at least taking a break somewhere.

He rifled through the lower drawers. There was half an eraser and a pack of unopened post-its, but otherwise it was as bare as Zuko’s fridge on the last day of the week. Zuko must’ve packed up long before Sokka came into the office (god knows how). There were no personal belongings or even anything that could show that this desk belonged to him.

No stupid post-it notes on the laptop screen to remind him of what to do first thing in the mornings. No generic office mug sitting beside the monitor for tea. No wireless mouse or black keypad hooked up to the computer system.

It was like Zuko was never here.

It only cemented the fact that he had no way of knowing where Zuko was.

Sokka was only growing more worried the more he went through the desk. Why was he doing this to himself? He was emptying every inch of the table, even though he knew that nothing he could find was going to help the growing headache he was nursing. Zuko could be going through some very real shit at the moment, but here he was sitting in the office, no idea how to reach out.

It wasn’t until a whole cycle of trying to put off work and worrying himself dry that he found the folded paper wedged between the speaker unit and the wall.

He unfolded it.

It was the menu for Ares Nightclub.

Why would Zuko keep the menu for the nightclub here?

Sokka thought long and hard. He knew the Blue Spirit had been chasing this lead for a long time, which was why he had been chasing the same lead trying to get the story of a lifetime. Zuko must still be on its trail. 

He punched the nightclub’s name into the computer. 

It was a reach, but maybe there was something connected to the nightclub that could explain Zuko’s sudden disappearance. Even though he knew that deep inside it was just a stray guess, he knew he had to try anyway.

Sokka scrolled for a while. There was barely anything on the web that provided any useful information about Ares Nightclub. The nightclub’s website itself was mainly for reservations, and besides showing guests the menu and the lineup for their renowned party nights in a very tacky purple font and a pink header, it didn’t exactly give Sokka anything to go off of. 

He clicked out of it.

The links below were just internet reviews and wannabe bloggers raving about the glorious experience they had there. He didn’t even want to know what kind of things went on inside, although it did appear to be a pretty normal nightclub from the look of the search results. He skipped past them decidedly. 

He switched over to the “News” section.

There were a few articles about port regulation that were loosely related to the nightclub, but nothing that the city didn’t already know. They had a rescaling of import limits a year back, and many smaller businesses had been affected by it, the nightclub included. The mention of the name in the list of businesses affected must’ve linked the articles to his search results. It had been a much smaller operation initially, and its growth had been attributed to the popularization of social media and younger audiences getting it on trending, which was concerning given the seedy nature behind the club. 

Just when Sokka was about to give up on this fruitless search, his eyes fell upon an article.

**_BLOOM OR BUST? REOPENING OF SUNS NIGHTCLUB_ **

The article was at least a year old, and belonged to a competing news firm. Now, Sokka wasn’t opposed to scouting out work done by their rival papers, so naturally he clicked it. Even if he wasn’t confident that he would find something useful, he did want to know as much as he could about the history of the nightclub, and why the Blue Spirit was so fixated with it. It wasn’t as if the nightclub was the only suspected centre of crime in the whole city. There were plenty of other shady establishments that met the requirements for that.

There was an old photograph of the same nightclub building in the day, albeit without all the neon lighting and the huge light-up sign above the doorway. It was probably taken right before the article was written, but it appeared to be the same nightclub anyhow, so he kept reading.

He look through it for a while, skimming past the words as he scrolled.

There was a very informative paragraph about the indie music lineups and the specialty drinks that the nightclub started out offering, and the small but selective clientele they had drawn in for their early days. Then there was a small recap about the location, and how it catered to those who couldn’t quite afford the fancy nightclub by the penthouses experience that only the rich people in the city center could. 

He didn’t find anything about crime here. The article seemed weirdly normal in itself.

And then he saw it.

The name that caught his eye.

 _Ozai Enterprises_.

Sokka was very familiar with the name.

After all, it had been the only thing on his mind when Zuko first came into the office. The corporation was only one of the largest in the country, known as a household brand operating in multiple industries across multiple cities. He was familiar with the things this corporation had done, all the damage they had wreaked in poorer areas and the corruption and crime that had stemmed from the capitalist nature of its business. All the people they had harmed, all the businesses they had doomed, all the poverty they had created from their monopolies. There was no end to the list of horrible things the corporation had done, and how little change had been done to bring justice to those who were suffering in the wake of their operations while they profited from it.

It was the reason he had hated the sheer idea of Zuko himself when he first saw him. He had associated Zuko with that corporation, the name following him like a ghost and tainting his entire first impression of his new coworker back in the days.

It was all because Sokka had long known that the owner of said corporation was none other than Zuko’s father.

He read it again to be sure.

 _Ozai Enterprises had taken over ownership of Ares Nightclub, once known as the well-loved Suns Nightclub, a local drinking spot that had declined in popularity and outreach due to low customer traffic_ . _They have plans to remodel the building into one that would cater to a larger client base from across the city_.

He could hardly believe his eyes. 

Zuko’s father was the owner of Ares Nightclub.

Sokka pressed his back against the chair as he tried to swallow everything he had just discovered.

This could change everything.

There was no denying it.

He had to find Zuko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slightly shorter chapter as a sort of leading into the final part of this series. I have added a chapter so instead of twenty-one there are now going to be twenty-two because I felt that the roller coaster that is about to come needed to be split and developed on their own, so hang in there because we are nearing the last part of this journey.
> 
> look, of course Ozai is linked to some corporation that uses its power and price-setting ability to ruin the lives of others, because what kind of modern setting au would this be without bringing in the power hungry father figure of Zuko's past?
> 
> it's going to be WILD in the next few chapters, and I shall aspire to do the story justice.
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co), check it for my other works and links


	20. hearts afire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko realizes many things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally. finally. that is literally the only thing going through my mind right now and I'm sure it's gonna be going through yours too
> 
> [tw: fire]

Zuko had always known that he wasn’t meant to take over his father’s empire.

There was always a small twisted hope in his heart that maybe he could pretend like everything would work out just fine, that he would be able to follow in his footsteps and inherit the family business. A foolish hope that maybe his father may even be proud of him one day. As if he could just forget that the past and the scar ever happened and just live a normal life.

But that was never meant to happen. His life was never meant to be normal.

It wasn’t until he found out that he didn’t _want_ to be like his father that he finally found the courage to leave. To turn away from all the crime and the exploitation and the shady dealings and the hushed transactions that colored his childhood. To walk away from all the greed and the hunger and the gluttony that his father always taught him, that he should always want _more_ , that he should stop at nothing to get what he wanted. 

It was that drilling that had made Zuko so afraid of what he wanted. He had started to realize how scared he was of desire. He had no idea how to want, no idea whether it was okay to want, and the very idea that he could just take what he wanted frightened the living shit out him. He didn’t want to be like his father. 

It had taken him so long to even learn that he was allowed to want. That he was allowed to have hopes and wishes and dreams and goals and a future that he could look forward to. He had let himself believe that the only thing he wanted was to be a good son, but time had given him the space to learn that it was not the case. 

What _did_ he want anyway?

Well, there were a few things he may dare to even think about wanting. 

He wanted to help people.

He wanted to live a life not compromised by his family’s “legacy”.

He wanted a life with someone who could love him for who he was.

But it may be too late for that last one.

He knew his father had always been a horrible person, but he had forgotten how _cruel_ that man could be until now. It was funny, really, how he could even forget. The scar should’ve been a constant reminder of that same cruelty that had landed him in this prickly situation, but over the years he had come to accept it as an indicator of who he is. As terrible as that may sound, the scar was what gave him the courage to fight for what he wanted. The concept of want was so new to him, so foreign and exciting and frightening that it had sparked a fire in his bones that never really went away, even when the ache dulled the flames on bad days. It was something deep and intense — the will to fight. It was a thunder that couldn’t be stolen and a feeling that nobody could take away from him.

It was that same sheer want that he needed right now to keep him fighting, to keep him surviving. The same want that made him claw at the doorframe, gasping for air as the fire inside him rivalled the fire around him.

There was fire _everywhere_. 

The flames were growing higher and higher, dancing and eating away at the walls, the peeling wallpaper only fuelling the heat as the fire roared at him. Smoke ripped through the room and through Zuko’s lungs, scratching at his throat and bursting out in ugly coughs that shook him to the core. The heat scorched his skin as the flames licked closer, threatening to take the ground out from underneath him. 

He was running of space to stand, and the door still won’t fucking _open_.

Zuko tried moving a little to the left, but there was fire there. A little to the right, also fire. Move back and he was trapped by a raging wall of orange and yellow. Move forward and he would find himself barrelling into the locked door. 

It was an inferno around him, a raging torrent of fire and smoke that blazed out of control, threatening to swallow the whole room and take him with it. The horrid smell of burning rubber and paint chips clung to the inside of his lungs and sent his mind spiralling faster into a dark abyss as he started to heave. 

The fire was going to burn him alive.

No, the fire was going to burn him _to death_.

There was a smoke alarm ringing frantically somewhere in the back but the sound was slowly fading from his hearing. That couldn’t be a good sign. What he could hear was a horrible shrieking, and it only took him so long to realize that it was his own horrible shrieking, calls for help that tore from his throat as he cried out for somebody, _anybody_ , but deep down even he knew it was futile. 

His fists were red from pounding at the door, trying to kick the hinges in or pull the damned thing open but it was barred from the outside, something heavy pushed over it. 

He could no longer breathe. He could no longer think. He could no longer move.

He could only stand watching the fire grow higher and burn everything around him while his heart screamed in his ears. The walls were charring black now, but everything was far too bright — a glaring burn in the center of his eyes and an awful sear on his skin. 

There was no escape.

He was trapped.

He was trapped and nobody could hear him.

 _I’m going to die_ , Zuko thought. 

It was terrible really, an absolutely shitty situation he was having, and he should’ve recognized when he should give up in the face of death really. He had every reason to slump down onto the floor and let the flames consume him. He should just give up and accept the fact that there was no way he was going to make it out of this predicament alive.

But _no_. No. No no no.

He had went his whole damn _life_ without hope; he had nothing but a single-minded focus with a closed off worldview that made him so damn miserable and lonely and grouchy. He had had enough of giving in and letting life beat him up and succumbing to the shitty luck he was so familiar with. 

He was not going to sit around and burn to death just because he had a few minutes left to breathe before his brain went numb and choked on the smoke. He was not going to let go of that little sliver of hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , the door would give way or someone would hear him or somehow the fire would go out or something. Even if he was going to die for sure, he would die knowing that he fought all the way till the end.

There were many things shooting through his mind right now.

He was thinking about the people he had left. Zuko had to admit, there wasn’t too many people left in his life that he kept close, but the two people he was remembering right now was enough to keep him shouting and fighting and kicking at that damn door.

He didn’t want to imagine the despair on his uncle’s face. He didn’t want to think about how Sokka would react if he died. Hell, maybe they wouldn’t even know that he died. His father would probably try to cover it up, probably keep it out of the news, maybe even chalk it up to mysterious circumstances. Maybe he would even hire some kind of search party for show, for pity, for _money_. Anything to lend a little emotion to the blatant uncaring face of Ozai Enterprises.

Would his uncle or Sokka even knew where he had went? Would they think he had just vanished and left? Would they think that he had just abandoned the people he loved?

Probably, given the cryptic message he had left Sokka with. He had said goodbye. He wasn’t even really thinking about it, just a symbolic goodbye maybe to an idealistic life that he had hoped to build. Everything seemed so small and insignificant now that he was staring death in the eye. He just wanted to live, wanted to live to see another day, see the people that mattered the most to him again. 

He wanted to see Sokka again.

It was like all the angst clouding his mind from the previous weeks had lifted. A fog had been poisoning his brain with the idea of leaving and being done with it and running from his problems and never facing up to the kind of life he wanted to live. But now, it was clearer than ever what he wanted.

He wanted to see Sokka again.

Even if Sokka would never like him romantically, it would be okay for Zuko. As long as Sokka was happy and himself and still roasting him for what it’s worth, even if they were just friends, just colleagues, he was totally fine with that. He had just been running from himself for so long that he couldn’t come to terms with the matter. 

If only it hadn’t taken a whole fire for him to realize that.

Zuko peeled himself off the floor.

He called out again, a desperate plea for help — his composure crumbling like the walls.

He wasn’t expecting an answer really. Not even from the universe or himself, it was just sheer desperation and nothing else in this room with him now. He had to get out of here, he had to do anything to get out of here, he had to fight and survive and-

“ _ZUKO_?”

No. Yes. How? 

It was distant and soft, but Zuko swore he had heard it. That was Sokka’s voice calling his name. Through the fire and the flames, he had heard a damn response. He couldn’t be hallucinating it, he was so damn close to escaping and there was only a door between him and whatever or _whoerver_ was out there waiting for him and he just needed to get it open.

“Zuko? Zuko!” 

The voice was closer now. Sokka was closer now. 

“ _Sokka_.”

God, his voice was so hoarse.

“Zuko! Zuko, fuck, is that you?”

The smoke was getting too thick to bear. 

Zuko pounded one fist against the door, trying to signal a yes.

“Fuck, okay, I need to get you out of there.” Sokka was right outside now, but he still sounded so far away. “I’m gonna push this out of the way okay, Zuko? You better still be alive by the time I get there okay?”

Zuko nodded, not that Sokka could see it. 

“Stay awake,” Sokka said, voice wavering a little. “Do _not_ close your eyes, you hear me?” 

Zuko was trying to stay conscious, but his eyes were threatening to shut. He didn’t like how unsure Sokka sounded. The inside of his throat was raw now, like he just couldn’t get enough oxygen no matter how hard he tried to breathe. He had long tore off the mask, and it now sat abandoned a metre away, the flames licking at it. 

There was a loud grunt and what he assumed was Sokka trying to push whatever blocked the door away. From the sounds of it, it must have been something heavy like a sofa, a cabinet maybe. He was trying to keep himself awake by deducing what it was. It sounded like Sokka was having trouble with it. 

“Almost there, Zuko, Zuko, do not close your eyes,” Sokka continued talking like Zuko’s life depended on it. And it probably did. “If you close your eyes, I’m going to go in there and whoop your ass okay?”

Zuko managed a weak chuckle. Typical Sokka.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Sokka said to himself.

There was a rustling sound, and then a horrendous straining of the floorboards started.

Footsteps.

Was Sokka walking away?

Zuko sunk down further.

This was it. Was he going to die here?

At least it was with Sokka’s voice in his mind. What a terribly poetic way to go out.

The sudden jolt of the door sent him barrelling back to reality and whirling around.

Was he so delirious that he was imagining it?

No, he couldn’t be.

There was Sokka, standing in the door.

“Zuko, fuck! It’s hot,” Sokka yelped. He ran over to Zuko and wrapped an arm around him, grabbing the fallen mask in his other hand as he tried to steady Zuko on his shoulder. “Can you stand? We have to get out of here.”

There was an uneasy thudding in his head, but he nodded, trying to get back to his feet.

“This place is going to burn in _seconds_ if we don’t get out of here,” Sokka urged. He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring Zuko or himself anymore “Just keep going, don’t look back, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Zuko nodded vaguely, pushing himself forward without any clear knowledge how.

Sokka pushed the door shut behind them and together they hobbled down the corridor, up the stairs, and out of the building. Then they walked a little distance to the street across, then a little further into an alleyway just to be safe. The nondescript building they had emerged from had been chosen well. There were tons of alleyways around and nobody in sight. 

Everything was so surreal. Was this really Sokka beside him? Was this Sokka’s arm around him? He didn’t quite trust his own senses to say for sure.

“Zuko, _look at me_.” Sokka grabbed Zuko’s face gently in his hands and turned his face towards his own. “I’m here now, can you speak?”

Zuko tried to nod. He was just trying to breathe.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened yet,” Sokka said quietly. “We can sit here for a while.”

The quietness in the alleyway was a shock. All those sounds back there in the dark and hot room had been too much, and now they were gone. Stripped. Bare. Nothing but the quiet warmth of Sokka sitting right in front of him, _holding_ his face in his hands and staring into his eyes. It was almost too much for him, but he was coming back to earth.

“How did you find me?”

It was a long time before he could speak again, before he could find the words.

“You idiot,” Sokka said. “I thought you were going to leave me.”

“I thought I was going to leave you too,” Zuko admitted a little quieter.

“Then I found it,” Sokka explained. “The menu, you left it back at the office.”

“Ah shit, I knew I forgot something,” Zuko said, his eyes heavy as he cracked a little smile in response.

“How dare you,” Sokka huffed. “You said _goodbye_. Do you know how scared I was?”

Zuko didn’t quite know how to respond, but it didn’t matter when Sokka kept talking.

“I was scared too,” he finally spoke up.

“Why?” Sokka asked, his voice softening.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between, between us, you know,” Zuko trailed off. It sounded weird to say “us”. Could one really say that when they didn’t have anything between them? 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sokka blurted out. “I thought _I_ was the one ruining things between us.”

Zuko stared at him funny.

“You…?”

“I was being so obvious and flirty and all I thought you’d see right through me long ago,” Sokka said, the words flying out of his mouth before he could even think twice. “I mean, _cooking_? That was the moment I knew it was too late for me to turn back.”

 _Obvious_ ? _Flirty_? 

“Wait, you were _flirting_ with me?” Zuko blabbered. “Since when?”

“Like, just about every time we talked?” Sokka stared back, no longer having it in him to even be remotely embarrassed. This had really gone on long enough. 

“Huh?” Zuko could only say.

“Don’t you get it?” Sokka asked, trying a variety of hand gestures that failed to convey his exasperation. “I _like_ you, Zuko. Like, _like_ like you. I like you a lot.”

Zuko felt his mind explode.

He was just, staring, and that was all he could even do at this point.

“Earth to Zuko,” Sokka tried, a little nervous now that there was no response from the man. Had he broken Zuko?

“What about your...friend?” Zuko managed to choke out.

He was feeling close to death for the second time that hour.

“What friend?” Sokka asked, genuinely confused.

“Your _friend_ ?” Zuko exclaimed. “The friend who you really like? The friend who you talk so affectionately about and who hates black coffee and- _oh_ . _Oh._ ”

“Oh my god.” Sokka put a hand on his head. “You’re an idiot. Zuko, you’re an actual idiot.”

“Holy _fuck_.” 

“Well, we’re both idiots I guess,” Sokka said. 

“Yeah,” Zuko half-laughed, half-choked.

The ridiculousness of their situation was finally hitting him. 

Sokka liked him back. Sokka had liked him all along in fact, and he was just too stupid to even realize it sooner. He had been so worked up this whole time over nothing. 

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“You.” Zuko got up and faced Sokka. “You like me.”

“As if that wasn’t already glaringly obvious,” Sokka snorted.

“And I like you too,” Zuko said, as if figuring it out for the first time.

“I should hope so,” Sokka continued.

“Does this mean we’re dating?” Zuko asked, still having the audacity to sound unsure.

Sokka sighed.

And then he pulled Zuko in for a kiss.

It was a quick one, but it was needy and deep, a kiss to prove a point that had been lost in translation for weeks and months on end. A kiss that would finally shut Zuko the hell up and silence all the questions in his head. It was warm and soft and tender but deep and pressing and urgent and it was everything that he had expected but hadn’t seen coming this whole time. It held the promise of realness and came from somewhere deep within, like it was telling him that Sokka was real, that everything was real, everything he had been feeling and everything Sokka had been feeling was  _ real _ .

It was the kiss he had been waiting for this whole time.

“Does that give you your answer?”

Zuko could only nod.

“You kiss...good,” he managed.

“Says the guy who broke into my house and kissed me,” Sokka snorted again.

“Hey! I panicked,” Zuko protested.

“Maybe you should panic more,” Sokka teased, leaning in and wrapping his arms around Zuko. “I’ve really missed you, you know?”

“I’ve missed you too.” Zuko leaned easily into the contact.

“I could go on and on, wax poetry about your abs or sing you love songs under the night sky and all, but don’t you think you’re missing something?” 

Zuko wasn’t even going to begin to try and process the abs comment.

In the momentary haste of panic and understanding, he had completely forgotten about the entire reason he was here today. The entire reason he had ended up in that damn fire in that damn room. 

Sokka was right.

 _The Blue Spirit had a villain to defeat_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you imagine if I just ended this whole story when Sokka couldn’t open the door?  
> gah the pain. okay, but fortunately for everybody and myself this is “angst with a happy ending” not “angst that is trying to kill you” so we still have two more chapters to go guys
> 
> also hello the next update will be like a week or so late cos I'm doing bokuaka week 2020 and I am currently simultaneously working on like 11 wips
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)


	21. bluefire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko has to face his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of swearing alert, but that's how you know I'm back guys it was a long wait but I swear this chapter will be worth it

The smell of alcohol rub and the beep of life-support machines swirled through Zuko’s head, the plastic seat cold and rigid against his back. The lights were just a little too bright, but the corridor long and dim at the same time, his thoughts echoing all the way down the passageway. The redness in his eyes had faded after they had given him something for the irritation, but they still felt dry and achy. 

The hospital was fairly deserted at this time of night, save for the few concerned medical staff who stopped to ask if he was okay. 

Truth was, he was wondering the same thing too.

This was the same hospital they admitted the boy into after he had failed. 

He had leaned against the same beige walls that day, waiting and waiting — for what exactly even he wasn’t sure of. He had watched people come and go, very aware that he was nobody to any of them. Nobody had known he was the Blue Spirit. Nobody had known he was the one who failed. Nobody had known him.

And now he was back here again, but at least this time he wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” Sokka announced his presence, sliding into the seat next to Zuko.

“Hey,” Zuko echoed, his throat still hoarse from the earlier harrowing events of the night.

“They said you’re good to go, no overnight stay or anything like that,” Sokka continued. 

“Did they ask anything more?”

“Not really, doctor-patient confidentiality I suppose,” Sokka explained. “I sent in a call to fire services, the building should be fine. Or at least, you know the buildings around it.”

Zuko nodded, trying to take it all in.

“But you need to rest your throat, and rest in general.”

“I have to do something first,” Zuko said unceremoniously. 

Sokka cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Zuko, you were just in a _fire_.”

“And now I’m out of the fire.”

“I forgot how stubborn you can be sometimes,” Sokka huffed out a laugh.

“Well, now you’re stuck with me,” Zuko replied, managing a toothy grin.

Sokka punched him lightly in the shoulder, eliciting an oof out of him.

“Seriously though, I need to do this,” Zuko repeated.

Sokka knew Zuko was being serious. 

“Okay, okay, at least tell me that you’re going to be safe,” Sokka urged.

“I will try my best,” Zuko replied, full serious this time.

“Good, now you need to eat something before you go.” Sokka stood up. “What do you want from the vending machine?”

“Are you serious?” Zuko turned to him, eyes wide.

“Dead.” Sokka flashed him a grin of his own.

“Hmmm,” Zuko mused, scratching his chin. “I want a Mars bar.”

“Great choice, sir,” Sokka mimed, dropping into an exaggerated bow and hopping off the seat towards the vending machine parked around the corner. “Be right back with your delicious, chocolatey fare.”

Zuko stifled a giggle. _What a dork_.

But then again, Sokka was _his_ dork now.

While Sokka was gone, he settled into a comfortable rhythm of watching the nurses go by and people emerge from the rooms down the corridor. He had chosen not to sit in the waiting room, lest someone got too curious and started asking him questions, and Sokka was only happy to indulge. The events from before felt like a distant dream now, like everything could be tucked inside him to be unpacked later. 

And unpack he would. There was so much to think about. 

But for now, he would revel in the calm before the storm. 

Maybe if he just shut his eyes he could finally rest.

As his eyelids verged dangerously on closing, he heard a sound.

It sounded...weirdly muffled. 

Like a _choked gasp_.

Zuko leapt to his feet. The worst suspicions were racing through his mind as he shot off down the corridor, swinging wildly around searching for the vending machine and earning him several weird looks from the medical staff.

He rounded the corner.

 _Oh fuck_.

All the way at the other end of yet another long corridor, Sokka struggled against the arms wrapped around his torso and his mouth, trying to wrest out of their grip. The glint of sharp metal flashing under the bright hospital lights was obvious even from this distance. 

“Hello, Zuko.”

The ugly sneer stretched across the man’s face made Zuko’s stomach turn. There was no doubt about who it was though. 

“ _Zhao_.” 

Zuko knew he couldn’t move. One step forward and Sokka was as good as dead.

“Your father requests an audience with you,” Zhao announced with as much tact as a doorknob, his voice carrying across the corridor and striking into Zuko’s heart.

“Why would he want to talk to me?” Zuko said, voice dangerously low.

“Pier 13.” Zhao grinned, and Zuko wanted so badly to just slap it off his damn face. “Don’t be late, you know what happens.”

As if to emphasize his point, the knife twisted closer to Sokka’s exposed neck, wrangling a string of muffled curses from him as he was left struggling. The look of sheer panic in his eyes was gut-wrenching. 

Zuko gulped. 

With that warning, Zhao was gone. Along with Sokka.

He had taken Sokka.

Zuko sank to his knees, alone in the corridor now.

He had to go.

_There was no way he was letting Sokka get hurt._

The choppy, black waters by the city stirred with the night wind when he arrived at the pier, mirroring the choppy, black waters of his heart. There was an uneasy weight that had settled at the base of his stomach, but Zuko could no longer feel it anymore. He had only one thing and one thing only on his mind: Sokka.

 **_Pier 13_ **.

It was printed in a black that was so weathered it had turned gray, glaring back at him from the sign with an unsettling kind of finality. 

Zuko suppressed the heavy feeling in his chest.

A lone figure was standing at the end of the pier, back turned to him.

Zuko slipped off the mask, stepping into the balmy light from a streetlamp.

“Father.”

“Good, you made it,” Ozai said.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Zuko said through clenched teeth.

“Ah, the boy.” Ozai flicked his wrist as he turned around, dismissing Sokka as if he was nothing but an insignificant thing to be worried about over dinner. 

It made Zuko’s head crawl with rage.

“ _Where. Is. He._ ” 

“Patience, Zuko.” 

Zuko bit down. He knew it was useless trying to argue with his father, especially when he had _Sokka_ as leverage over him. It was a terrible feeling, knowing this. But he had to hold out, he had to wait, bide his time until it was the right moment to fight back. 

“Zhao.”

Right on cue, Zhao slipped out from the shadows, a bound figure in his arms. 

His resolve crumbled instantly.

“Sokka!” Zuko tried to rush to his side, but he was halted immediately.

Sokka was forced down to his knees, knife still held to his throat. He flashed Zuko a firm look, one that was trying to be strong and encouraging, but even then Zuko could still see the fear behind his eyes. 

“ _Let him go_.”

“Why should I do that?” Ozai turned to face his son, face fixed into an impassive frame.

 _Because I love him_. 

“You did this,” Zuko snarled. “You did all of this. The nightclub, the drugs, the fire, the deaths, it was all you. It was _you_ all along!”

“Zuko,” his father tutted, as if disappointed. “I’m not the one keeping secrets.”

Zuko tightened his grip around the mask in his hand.

“It’s time you stop running around in that ridiculous thing, and join me.”

“Ridiculous? _Ridiculous_?” Zuko wanted to laugh. “It’s a family heirloom!”

Ozai fixed him a look, and looked at the mask.

“Ah,” he said. “It’s Iroh’s, that traitor.”

“How could you call Uncle a _traitor_?” 

“You were always the weak one,” Ozai tutted again. “ _Just like your uncle_.”

His blood was boiling with a new rage now. 

“Let. Sokka. Go.”

“Sokka,” Ozai echoed thoughtfully. “What a shame, Sokka.”

Zhao’s grip only tightened around Sokka as he edged the knife closer.

 _Fuck_! Zuko’s mind was screaming and reeling.

“I’ll release him if you join me,” Ozai said simply. 

“Never.” Zuko tried to banish all thoughts of accepting his father’s condition through his mind. He didn’t want to go back. He _couldn’t_ go back. Never. But Sokka’s muffled cries were piercing through his brain and his heart and his entire being and all he wanted was for Sokka to be _safe_. 

Sokka’s eyes had shot wide open, shaking his head and trying to tell Zuko _no_.

He would never let Zuko do it. 

He would never let Zuko become his father.

“If you know what’s good for him, and what’s good for you, you’ll join-”

A blade struck Ozai across the face.

His hand shot up to his face, drawing away with blood.

“ _You impudent boy_ ,” Ozai growled. “You’ll pay for that.”

Zuko didn’t even stop to hear the end of his father’s sentence. He was already shooting off across the slippery floor, hurling himself at Zhao with his blades.

Sokka rolled off to one side. 

He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own angry shouting, the noises tearing from his hoarse throat animalistic. The only thing he could feel right now was _rage_ , _rage_ , _anger_ , _hatred_ , _rage_ , and it pounded through his brain like a storm, taking over his body and invading his mind as he lashed out at Zhao. 

Zhao was caught off guard, but he managed to hold his own, dodging and swiping back with his own knife. Skilled as he was, even he knew he was no match for an angry Zuko. 

Men rushed out of the warehouse nearby, rushing at Zuko as his father retreated with a scowl on his face. All of them were burly, larger than Zuko, and most of them were armed, but he was too far gone to even care. 

Zuko launched himself at them too.

Sokka watched as the Blue Spirit took out the thugs.

There was something different about the way Zuko fought when he was blinded with rage. He had lost most of the strange grace and fluid movements that made his fighting style what it was, but his movements were still controlled and powerful and _deadly_. He dodged and rolled and swiped and slashed with an immeasurable speed, sending men falling to the floor. 

The Blue Spirit had never fought with such a sharp intensity before.

Sokka made a sound against his gag.

 _No_ , this was not the Blue Spirit.

This was Zuko.

And Zuko was fighting to _kill_.

Bodies toppled left and right. 

Sokka wriggled against his bonds, trying to call out to Zuko.

Zuko could barely hear him through the pounding in his ears, through the yelling of the men around him, through the slashing of the knives. He was barely even aware that he was moving, the chaos revolving around him through the mask. 

Blood. 

“Zuko!”

Pain.

“Zuko!”

Death.

“ _Zuko!_ ”

Zuko stopped.

He could’ve sworn he heard Sokka’s voice call his name.

He whirled around.

The field of bodies lay out before his eyes sent his knives clattering to the ground, slipping out of his hands. Most of them were still twitching, which meant they were alive, but the sight pulled him out of his drunken rage.

“Zuko,” Sokka rasped, having managed to chew off his gag. 

“Sokka, fuck.” Zuko rushed over, grabbing one of his knives and slicing through the zip ties.. “Fuck, fuck, I fucked up.”

“Zuko.” Sokka pulled Zuko into his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I was so angry,” Zuko tried to compose his thoughts. “I don’t know what was wrong with me, I was just so, so angry at him.”

Sokka nodded, listening.

The water lapped against the pier in the back.

“Fuck, he had you and I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Sokka offered him a weak smile.

“Yeah-”

Zuko was cut off, a fist pummeling into the left side of his face.

He didn’t see Zhao. He couldn’t have. 

He was sent rolling as he tried to get back to his feet, the scar crackling with pain under his hand as he cradled his eye.

Zhao knocked him back to the ground before he could get back up.

“No!” 

Zuko shrieked as he watched some of the men advance quickly towards Sokka.

His hand was trapped, the knife flailing uselessly as he watched them tie Sokka up again, dragging him to the edge of the pier.

Zuko wrestled to try to get the man off him as his arm reached for the knife.

So close. It was so close. 

“Fuck y-”

Zhao pressed his knee deeper into Zuko’s stomach, cutting him off his scream.

There was an ugly splash, and his heart shot into his throat.

His worst fear had been confirmed.

They had thrown Sokka off the pier.

 _No, no!_ Sokka was going to die, and it was going to be all his fault.

He didn’t want it to end like this. They had just gotten together. He hadn’t even had a chance to apologize for all the shitty things he had done, for all the misunderstandings. They were supposed to laugh about it all together, over another home cooked meal and some good tea. He was supposed to introduce Sokka to his uncle, for real this time. He was supposed to spend the rest of his damn life with Sokka. 

They were so close, so goddamn close to happiness. 

Do you know how painful it is to be so close to everything being okay and then having it torn away from you in seconds? Well, Zuko did. Too many times to name. It hurt. It fucking hurt and he wanted to just lie down and make the world go away but he couldn’t. 

Fuck.

He was not going to let it end like this.

He was not going to let his father take his happiness away.

He grabbed the knife and sunk it into Zhao’s side.

The man howled.

Zuko ran and jumped.

The water was cold and dark. The bare moonlight streaming in through the surface barely lit up the waves. Everything was silent, quiet, deafeningly so, save for the screaming of his heart, the screaming of his hopes and his future and his dreams. He was screaming out for Sokka, and nobody could hear him. 

He was running out of air.

But if he died trying to save Sokka, so be it.

He kept looking, ignoring the heavy sloshing in his head.

It felt like an eternity before he found Sokka. 

_There_. Is that a body?

Zuko drew closer, his brain getting fuzzier. 

Sokka. It was Sokka.

Zuko latched his hands onto Sokka’s neck and around his waist as he kicked and flailed and did everything he could to get them back to life. Get them back to safety.

They breached the surface together.

Sokka wasn’t breathing.

“Fuck, fuck.” Zuko went through the motions, trying to get the water out of his lungs. “Sokka, please, you’re going to wake up, you’re fine.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to reassure himself.

It felt like another eternity before Sokka spluttered and coughed.

Zuko wanted to collapse and cry out of sheer relief.

“Sokka,” he said, like it was a prayer and he was on the brink of death.

“Zuko,” Sokka said, managing yet another weak smile.

Zuko shut him up with a kiss. His hands were going everywhere, feeling and touching and remembering and mapping out what Sokka felt like. He was here, he was real, he was okay. He was alive. He kissed Sokka like it was the air he needed, like it was water to quench an unquenchable thirst, like there was no tomorrow. Because _fuck_ , there might not have even been a tomorrow.

Fuck, they were going to be okay.

Zhao and his thugs were gone.

He lay down on his back next to Sokka. The world was flooding back into his consciousness. The sound of distant ship horns. The water clinging to his skin through his sopping wet clothes. The smell of oil and gas and rubber.

They were alive.

The fight was far from over, but that was a worry for another day.

“Hey,” Sokka said. 

“You scared me,” Zuko said.

“Look, if you wanted to see me tied up you could’ve just asked, you know?”

Zuko slapped Sokka on the shoulder, drawing an _ow_ out of him.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Of course you can, you love me.” Sokka grinned.

“Pfttttt.” Zuko settled for shaking his head, unable to refute that fact.

“Now, can you stop being dramatic and come back to work?”

Zuko shut him up with another kiss again.

The sun was coming up over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can I just say that I got chills writing this? that one fighting scene where Zuko just snapped™? poetic cinema  
> man the way my heart thrummed when I wrote this  
> also thanks for all your comments holy shit I swear I read every one of them religiously I just don't always reply but I'm working on that yes  
> by the way honestly 22 is like the golden number for my long fics I swear all my longfics end on the 22th chapter and only one of them is aligning to like the tarot major arcana (21 chapters with one for each major arcana card + starting chapter) but the rest just have,, no business being 22 but they are??
> 
> [insert obligatory "I update every week" message here] and here's my [socials](https://thegildedraven.carrd.co) and my other [works](https://emptyheadspace.tumblr.com/completedworks)
> 
> just. fucking follow my tumblr if you want to see more zukka shit you plebes


	22. gold beholden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit this has been a JOURNEY

The sunlight filtered in through the half-shuttered blinds, creeping over carpet and furniture until it tickled the edge of the bed and seeped under the covers. It was warm and delightful and so very, very comfortable.

The world was quiet this morning. It was not the uncomfortable or eerie kind of silence, but more a hushed peace touched by the promise of a new day, a _good_ day. The room started to fill up with more light—soft and forgiving and easy—the world starting to wake up outside the little window by the bedside. There was the rumble of an idle car engine, the shop opening up their metal shutters next door, neighbors getting up and going about their day. Everything felt so normal, but in a good way. 

Zuko woke up with a slight start when he realized he wasn’t in his own room. 

He was in someone else’s bed.

And that someone else’s head was buried into his shoulder.

 _Ah, right_. He relaxed, taking deep breaths as he propped himself up on his elbows.

Zuko didn’t know if he would ever get used to waking up with Sokka by his side in bed.

It was a while before he dared to shuffle slowly and quietly on his side to face Sokka. he inhaled deeply, memorizing the smell of fluffed sheets and that stupid cinnamon shampoo that Sokka always used as he lay, quiet breaths rising and falling as he slept through the sun falling over his head. He almost didn’t want to breathe or touch or move, afraid that he would disturb the serene scene by stirring Sokka.

He had never woke up next to someone he loved so much before. The warmth felt new and slightly foreign against his side, but he could get used to this. He wanted to get used to this. It had taken him a long while to come to terms with it, but maybe being able to wake up beside the one he loved was the dream he didn’t know he needed. Maybe this was the thing he had been missing from his life.

It was going to get better from here.

Sighing, he hauled the blanket tighter over his chest and closed his eyes, sinking into the soft bedspread and nuzzling his face into the top of Sokka’s head, where the hair sprung free and ran amok in his sleep. He could always mock Sokka for his bedhead later when they both got up together.

Zuko could finally rest for a little while now.

Just a little while more before the sun rose into the sky.

It had been a week since the arson case that happened downtown.

Despite rigorous investigation and a thorough sweep of the crime scene, law enforcement had yet to find even the bare beginnings of a lead. It was like everything had been burned away, lost to the flames that had licked the walls and consumed whatever was in their way. There was no evidence left, nothing to even suggest that anyone had been inside. 

It was unlikely that anyone had succumbed to the mysterious fire. 

Unbeknownst to them, someone had died in the fire. Someone small and weak and doubtful and insecure, someone who Zuko was all too familiar with. Someone he had known his entire life, and someone he thought he would continue to know for the rest of it.

Gone was the scared child who cowered under his father’s reign of terror, wondering if one day he would have to grow into the throne and become the person he never wanted to be. The child who never knew if he could ever gather the courage to fight for what he wanted, fight for what he so desperately dreamed of. The child who tried to let himself succumb to fear and material temptations, trying to convince himself that he would be a son his father would be proud of if he just shut out his own voice.

Zuko would always be the little boy who screamed when his father burned him all those years ago. He would always be the boy with a scar.

His father may never love him. That much was made clear when he tried to kill Zuko. 

But the fire in his bones had burned brighter than the fire around him.

He couldn’t be afraid to rise up anymore, to settle for what his life had been all along when it hadn’t treated him so well all those years. He couldn’t be afraid to stand up for what is right, to protect the people he loved and his own heart. He could be brave, he could be strong, and now he had people by his side who loved and supported him.

He knew the mask wasn’t always going to be there for him. How long could he really go around being the Blue Spirit and sneaking around at night? 

But the mask was only the first step in a long-awaited journey that he needed to take.

There was so much left to do, and his story was only just beginning.

Yes, the mask was only the first step, and it would do for now. 

Zuko couldn’t change the world overnight, but he sure as hell was going to start trying.

The jarring sound of a metal shutter closing reverberated through the streets. 

The news stand was closing for the night. The owner—a wizened man who had seen the city change so much in the span of months—dusted his hands off with a satisfied smile to himself. Business had been good today, a steady stream of customers perusing his news racks over the past week. All of them vying for any bit of information they could get about the Blue Spirit, that goddamned blessed vigilante looking out for them all. 

He didn’t personally know what good press was, but as long as the papers kept writing about the man in the mask, it was good for business. 

Just as he was about to tuck the last rack inside the shop, a figure came around the corner, hands shoved into his pockets and a hood pulled over his head. He stared at the news stand expectantly with a distant look in his eyes, even though he remained standing in the dark.

 _Ah, the last customer_.

“You’re just in luck.” The old man chuckled. “Last copy.”

He tossed the paper over to the waiting figure, who received it with a pointed certainty. They turned to rummage in their pockets for the right amount of change. 

“It’s on the house,” the owner said. “Good day, lots of sales.”

The hooded man nodded gratefully and took a closer look at the cover.

**_Ex-CEO of Ozai Enterprises: Arrested after Ares Nightclub Drug Bust_ **

“They’re saying the man in the mask got ‘im,” the owner continued talking, unprompted. He popped a cigarette out and lit it, taking a long drag before turning to face the hooded man. “You a fan of his too?”

“You could say that.” The man’s voice was hoarse and rough. 

“The universe knew what it was doing when they sent him,” the owner huffed with a throaty laugh. “Why anyone would do it is beyond me, but bless the lad. It’s about time someone cleaned up this city.”

The man didn’t respond beyond a gruff noise of agreement. He skimmed the paper briefly, eyes returning back to the clear print of the cover page. The article was splashed across the front, a photograph of the former CEO of one of the largest companies in the world plastered across the page—indignant, furious, _defeated_. The photo credits read loud and clear. It was no doubt impeccable work by the up and coming photojournalist known by the name of Sokka, author of the Blue Spirit Blog. 

He was more than familiar with Sokka’s work.

“Well, have yourself a good night,” the owner declared. 

The man turned to go. He remained silent for a long while before turning back.

“You too,” he replied.

Then, he turned and walked off into the shadows, moving further and further away from the news stand—the paper clutched tight in his hand.

The owner stood for a while, watching the figure shrinking into the distance.

“Funny sort we’ve got in the streets these nights,” he murmured to himself. 

He went back to closing up his shop.

Once the hooded man was out of sight, he leaned back against a wall in a little street. The brick felt hard and comfortable and reassuring against his shoulders, a much-needed reminder that the city was very real and very present. The night was quiet and easy, and there was barely a soul in the streets, but crime didn’t sleep after all.

He heaved a quiet sigh—almost a breath of relief—to himself. 

He stuffed the paper into his bag, folding it until the cover was out of sight.

He pulled on the blue mask.

The Blue Spirit took off into the night.

If anyone were to spy a lone figure perched on a rooftop in their part of the town—staring upon the city through a blue mask—they would feel a sense of ease in their hearts, maybe even a blossom of hope for the future.

They would remember the papers, the press coverage, the events, the social movements, everything that had risen in the wake of the masked man’s exploits. These daring exploits had grown from words on a blog post to front-page news, then to cable television, and eventually the big screen. People were starting to pay attention to the Blue Spirit—it was hard to ignore what he was doing after all. 

The vigilante had become a symbol of hope, an icon of change. Despite all the controversy and the uproar that had followed the hope and the positivity and the optimism for the future, the Blue Spirit didn’t stop. He didn’t stop working tirelessly through the nights, a shadow that graced the alleyways like a light in the dark, watching out for even those who would’ve gone unnoticed in the quieter parts of the city.

People weren’t scared of him anymore. They didn’t all love him either, but he wasn’t looking for love after all. Even then, he found that the neighborhood was getting just a little kinder, and the people just a little more accommodating. They couldn’t afford to go against the law, but they could still do what they could: a hot meal set out by the front of a closing restaurant, bottles of water attached to windowsills, first-aid kits set out on doorsteps, it was the city’s own idea of looking out for him in their little ways. 

Everyone knew who the Blue Spirit was now.

_The Blue Spirit was a hero._

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took us 22 chapters to figure out who the blue spirit was but we finally got there guys.
> 
> hello everyone, Raven here. It's been a whole ass journey of angst and fluff and poor attempts at humor but this has been a fantastic first experience for me writing zukka, and I am pleased to announce that I will definitely be churning out more zukka content from here on out. I've highly enjoyed reading all your beautiful and lovely comments, they have really kept me going and keeping up the steady writing pace needed for me to finally finish this piece. I enjoyed all your sweet comments about my writing, or even just the ones suffering from the angst and the suspense, it was all very entertaining. 
> 
> when I first started this fic, I had not expected it to get to this point. It was supposed to be a little, short au inspired by something I saw on Pinterest of all things, but I am glad that I decided to take it in stride and go all out with the emotions and the tenderness that sheer chaotic capability of modern day zukka. I am very much aware that there are a lot of things that could be improved with the story, but for now I shall be content and proud of what I have accomplished in this story, and if it made you feel that way as well, then I'm thrilled to hear that too.
> 
> now, go forth and rec this fic to all your friends, your mutuals, and your third cousin removed. Just kidding, but it would truly mean so much to me if you do actually recommend this fic and please please tag me @emptyheadspace (tumblr) if you do, I would love to see it goddammit you'll make my entire day. 
> 
> thanks for following me on this journey, and I will be back with another zukka fic soon, hope to see you there too.
> 
> \- Raven


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